Lies and murders
by silberstreif
Summary: A deactivated mech is found in an alley and a witness describes Jazz as the murderer. Though, Prowl gives Jazz an alibi. The trouble - he lies. Readers can guess who the murderer is!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. It belongs to Hasbro.

Written for the pxj Anniversay challenge, day 9 on LJ.

**Beta:** Starfire201 and taralynden (Two heroes who betaed everything despite headaches, storms and lack of time!)

**Verse:** AU, G1

**Words:** 22,400 (completed)

* * *

**_Lies and murders_**

In a dark part of Iacon's heavy industrial sector**,** a mech slowly stumbled backwards through a narrow alley until his back hit the wall. He had reached a dead end. With wide, terrified optics he looked at the nearing bot, not quite able to believe what was happening.

"Please," he begged, desperation in every word. "I've done nothing, I swear. Said nothing, really."

But the bot didn't listen, nor did his steps slow.

"Please, have mercy!"

And nearer and nearer he came.

"You're an Autobot! Have mercy, I've done nothing, please, listen -"

A bright flash of an energy dagger, the slow gurgle of a capped energon line, then the mech crumpled to the ground and lay there, a pile of slowly greying parts. The alley was now utterly silent, not even the slightest noise betraying the engine of the assailant.

A white high-class visor flashed up for a moment, scanning the body and checking that the mech was really dead, then he turned and casually walked away**,** not caring that one of his pedes stepped onto the hand of the killed mech, crushing it.

As he reached the end of the alley, he put his energy dagger into his subspace and transformed into a sleek vehicle that stormed onto the highway and vanished with a streak of silver among the many normal citizens.

Nothing moved in the alley anymore. Then, a slow groan, a movement above the alley in a long abandoned dockway for floaters to bring in their goods. A green mech, trembling in horror and fear, jumped down and crawled to the corpse.

"No, no, no," he murmured and gently touched the head. "Why? Why you?"

* * *

"Designation?" asked Prowl with a frown as he scrutinized the brightly lit murder scene.

The poor victim was lying at the end of a nameless alley in one of the worst parts of Iacon. Usually a murder in this area could go unnoticed for a long time, but Prowl already had a feeling that in this case nothing was usual.

"Tumbler," said the Enforcer, who was called Backbeat and had been the one to inform Prowl. They had worked together on previous cases and had formed a bond of mutual respect. "He was an Autobot since the fall of Praxus, loyal. His friends describe him as gentle, peaceful even."

The mech had a dark blue paintjob with white highlights. Nothing too fancy, but time and credits had been put into the upkeep. Obviously a mech who had cared about how he looked. It made his undignified pose on the ground, with mouth wide open and an ugly hole in the the chest where the spark chamber was even more horrible.

The tactician got down next to the corpse.

The fatal damage itself was interesting. Because every frame kind and production line, not even counting individual adjustments or unique creations, had their vital spark chamber in a slightly different place in the upper body**;** there were over ten thousand possible angles at which the spark chamber was. Added to this was the fact that the murderer severed with the same hit the main energon line, making it all the more interesting. This hadn't been luck. The murder had happened swiftly and with precision. No amateur, then. Someone who had access to data on at least this frame, maybe on many others as well.

"He's big, probably a sparked factory mech**,**" speculated Prowl. "What was his current job?"

"Technician**,**" answered Backbeat. "He was responsible for repairing the energon converters in Iacon."

Not exactly a difficult job, but not too bad as well. It was normal. Everything about the mech screamed normal, so why was he lying dead in an alley? Prowl stood. "Do we already have information about his production line?"

It wasn't that easy to find out where a frame came from. Often the owners changed the colours, the armour, the sensory equipment, until they were barely recognisable. Prowl had stayed with the original black and white colours. They were simple, serious and very non-descript. He liked being able to vanish in a crowd.

"We have people searching for it, but I'm not expecting much from that side of the investigation." Backbeat frowned. "But the murderer knew where to hit to make his deactivation as fast as possible."

"And as painless." Which was another point towards unusual. "Are there any hints why a Decepticon assassin could have wanted him dead?"

Backbeat winced. "That's kind of the reason why I called you... sir."

The 'sir' made Prowl frown. Technically it was the correct way to address a superior, but Backbeat and he had forgone this little detail a long while ago. "Yes?"

"There is a witness," said Backbeat and looked Prowl straight into the optic. "And we have reason to think that the murderer is an Autobot."

The utter surprise on Prowl's face had to be plain, because the Enforcer sighed. "So, it wasn't an ordered execution?"

Prowl looked at the corpse. "No, not to my knowledge." And as SIC he would know about it. Even in these times of a peace agreement, he would have been informed. But an Autobot? Worrying.

Backbeat seemed, if possible, even more unhappy with the situation. He shifted on his pedes and said: "He gave us a description, even constructed a picture of what he saw of the murderer."

"Helpful," answered Prowl. "Are there any distinctive features, something for which I can search the databases for?"

"A few things." The mech hesitated, than he gave a datapad to the SIC. "There are some mechs who fit, but... there is one who has the skills and is quite famous."

Prowl froze as he saw the picture.

"Of course, we're sure that he can't have done this..." said Backbeat nervously, not daring to look at Prowl. "I mean, he could have, but he's an Autobot officer and we wouldn't just blame him with only a single witness report... He wouldn't do this without orders anyway, right?"

Prowl still stared at the picture of his friend and secret spark mate, Jazz. Elegant silver frame, white visor, the skill set. It fit well. Too well. But it couldn't be. He shuttered his optics and vented, then looked again.

"No, it wasn't him," Prowl said calmly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. He was with me last night."

And Prowl's gaze challenged Backbeat to say anything against it, but nothing came. Instead the Enforcer relaxed. "Oh, that's a true relief, Prowl. Really. We don't need a polical scandal on top of this."

The tactician nodded and gave back the picture. "I can understand the stress your unit is under to find the murderer. But I assure you, it wasn't Jazz."

"Well, there are still three candidates left, right? Not to mention the Decepticons."

"Right." Wings high on his back, Prowl looked to the corpse of Tumbler. "Don't worry. Together we'll find the real criminal."

* * *

For a moment, Prowl hesitated opening the doors to his own quarters. There was a possibility that Jazz was in there... He resolutely entered the code, verified it and entered. He quite liked his quarters in Iacon. It was in one of the new buildings and nothing hinted that this was where the SIC of the army lived. It was just as plain as every other apartment on the floor and in the whole complex. Of course, he might have raised the security to unheard of standards and had the underground entrance made secure so he could come and go without being seen, but besides that... he was a normal tenant with the designation 'Drifter'. Which had been Jazz's idea of a joke**;** after all it had more or less the same meaning as 'Prowler'. Fortunately, everyone but Jazz had believed him when he had threatened the next bot who called him by that nickname with a ten vorn mission in Darkmount as Megatron's washrack cleaner.

"Jazz?" he asked and looked around. No answer, the apartment appeared empty. Jazz had once mentioned that this was always the case with how impersonal Prowl has kept his home. But the tactician couldn't help himself, he was a bot that naturally kept few personal things and of those few most had been destroyed in the long war.

"Jazz, I need to speak with you."

Still no answer. But this time Prowl hadn't expected anything else and went to wash himself**.** Then he heated his second energon cube of the day and sat on his couch and waited while reading a nice novel. He didn't need to wait long. His apartment door opened and a silver bot with an attractive white visor entered with a smile.

"Prowler! How nice of ya to invite me in!"

Prowl put his datapad aside. "You've bugged my home."

With a grin**,** Jazz let himself fall on the couch next to Prowl. "Aw, come on, ain't like ya expected anything different."

Prowl tried to look disapproving, but the saboteur didn't even act as if he had done anything wrong.

"Ya're cute when ya try to be a good bot." Jazz smiled and kissed him. "Too bad, Ah know you better."

For a moment he kissed back, than he stopped and looked into his friend**'**s optics. "I don't try, I am a good mech. You're just corrupting me."

"Am I?"

"Yes."

"A little bit o'corruption looks beautiful on ya." Jazz kissed him again. "Now, Prowler. Ya said ya need to talk with me?"

And all of sudden any playfulness vanished from the Praxian and he nodded seriously. "The Enforcers have found the shell of a deactivated mech. There was a witness."

Jazz didn't move, nothing betrayed what he thought. "And? Who was da murderer?"

"We don't know, but the witness gave a description. A description that fit you very well."

Now Jazz's visor flashed up. "Me? Do ya have a picture or something?"

"Yes. I downloaded it." Prowl created a hologram image between them. "That's you. Right?"

"Well... in any case, it looks like me." The saboteur turned the image. "Any other information?"

Prowl gave him the most important data**:** the time of murder, location, how the damage had looked, closing with, "There are three other Autobots in Iacon which fit the description. They're now being investigated and questioned."

"Are they?" Jazz leaned back on the couch, obviously very unhappy. "And when is ma turn?"

"Never." Prowl looked away and sighed. "I vouched for you."

Now, Jazz bolted upright in the first show of true emotion since the discussion had begun. "What!"

"I claimed we were together during the time of murder."

"But -"

"You were with me in the evening," said Prowl**, **slightly defensive.

"But Ah left." Jazz hesitated**,** and then put a hand on Prowl's wings. "Ya lied, ma friend."

"Yes."

"Ya lied without even knowing if Ah'm the murderer or not..." Jazz laughed, but it was more a sob than a sound of happiness. "Ya know that Ah've murdered Autobots without orders before. Ya know!"

"Yes." Prowl's doorwings dropped a bit lower with every word.

"And still..."

"Yes." He looked at his friend, his sparkmate, and in quiet, dark orns his everything. "What else could I have done, Jazz? No alibi, your description, the skill set... a skill set that maybe thirty mechs on the whole planet possess..."

"Prowl..." The sadness made the single name into a heavy whisper.

"I couldn't let you go into prison or worse. And before you say it, I don't care if you're the murderer or not. We'll search for him regardless. And..." Prowl vented deeply. "And I trust you, Jazz. I trust you that if you've deactivated an Autobot in a dark alley that you had your reasons. Good reasons."

For a moment it was silent in the small apartment, then Jazz hugged Prowl like a lifeline in a dark world. The Praxian put his arm around the smaller, trembling mech, whose engine seemed more and more out of sync.

"Jazz... are you crying?"

"No." But the shaking voice proved him a liar. "Ah don't deserve ya."

"Yes, you do." It was the other way around. What had Prowl done to deserve a mech that could charm a smile on his lips in the darkest of times?

Jazz didn't answer and for once just let himself be held. Time ran past them, outside, far away, the Enforcers were searching for a murderer, but here, now, the world was alright.

"Prowl?" Jazz finally said and looked into the peaceful face of his sparkmate. The one who had just put his job and life on the line, just to protect him from the off-chance that he might be a murderer. "There is something that Ah've wanted to ask ya for a long time..."

* * *

The deca-orn meeting of the Autobots was a boring and technical affair since the peace agreement. Most parts of the society within Autobot territory had gone back to civilian rule with voted politicians and bureaucracy. The Autobot army regulated itself and kept a rarely changing schedule of vigilance and training for the joor when the war would begin again. But until that orn, the meeting of the high command was anything but eventful and used by not a few officers to get another round of recharge or to find ever more creative excuses why they couldn't attend. To the surprise of many, the winner so far in this particular round of competition was Perceptor, when he claimed not being able to abandon an experiment with lullabies in the Sonic Canyon for fear of waking up Primus...

This time was no different. Around half the officers had lacked the energy or the creativity to come up with half-believable excuses and were now sitting in their chairs half in recharge, playing**,** or talking. Optimus, who had just completed his summary of the Council**'**s actions and decrees of the deca-orn, walked towards Prowl and Jazz with the particular pinched expression that always meant that he was stressed or angry.

"I can understand that they're bored," he said and let himself fall into the seat next to Prowl. "But couldn't they at least have some courtesy?"

"Obviously not." Prowl took his datapad into his hand and stood up. Now, it was his turn to update the Autobot High Command on the happenings within Security, Supply, and Maintenance.

"Well, ya have to admit it**, **Prime, this isn't exactly high-class entertainment," said Jazz with a shrug. "But cheer up, Prowl's report will wake them up."

Optimus looked towards the Praxian that now walked to the middle of the room. "Prowl's report? Are you sure? Normally his reports are a bit..."

"Boring? Dry? Full of irrelevant data? A test of Primus to stay awake during them?"

Prime chuckled quietly. "All of that?"

"Ah, well, Prowl doesn't mean it, ya know?" Jazz looked towards Prowl who had begun and so far hadn't mentioned anything worth remembering. "He just gets a bit excited if he discovers new data and possibilities."

"I know." Optimus smiled and relaxed. "But we should stop talking, or we give a bad example."

Jazz turned around and looked at the other officers. "Hate to disappoint ya, Op, but there is no one left awake."

"What?" Optimus turned and indeed, most Autobots were simply staring at nothing. "I hope you're right and Prowl will somehow be able to wake them up soon. Did you manipulate his report?"

"Ah? Never... It's shocking what ya expect of ya own Third in Command..."

The Prime snorted. "I know exactly what to expect of you."

After that, they fell quiet and listened to Prowl who described the energon distribution system in the shopping district in very, very great detail and seemed not to be able to get enough of the fact that some shops were now selling energon without a license and what 'great' repercussions this could mean for the official energon vendors. As warning he put in the rising cases of bad energon, which were probably caused through irresponsible diluting of energon with disallowed substances.

Then, he switched to Security and without any softening or warning put the image of the murdered bot across the whole wall of the Senate room behind him. It was now easily as high as three Primes on top of each other and every horrible detail was big enough to not be able to ignore it. The empty spark chamber, smeared with dirty energon, was directly above Prowl.

For a moment**,** every discussion in the room ended abruptly as every Autobot stared at the gruesome image, then they started again, louder and much more agitated.

"I admit, that would wake most..." murmured Prime. To his surprise**,** Jazz didn't answer, but watched Prowl with an uncommonly serious expression.

"Quiet!" Prowl pointed at the image. "This is Tumbler, he was murdered last orn by a professional assassin. There was a witness who claimed that the murderer is an Autobot."

The outcry in the Hall was remarkable. Quite a few officers screamed 'never'.

"Please**,**" Prowl frowned. "Even more worrying is that the witness gave a description that you should recognise..." Suddenly the image was replaced with – Jazz. This time**,** the Hall was deadly silent. Every single Autobot was instead looking at the real Jazz, sitting quietly next to Prime himself. "Fortunately for us, Jazz has an alibi, given by me. Still, we need to be on guard. A mech with unknown intentions could use his similar look to our TIC to get entry and trust from various Autobots. For this reason, please alert the Enforcers or myself if you see a mech that looks similar or the same as Jazz and shows suspicious behaviour."

"And what if it's Jazz?!" screamed a bot from somewhere.

"We're still investigating," answered Prowl. "Jazz himself has declared himself willing to report his own location constantly to Teletraan. So, you can check in and verify if it's really Jazz in front of you or not." Again, the Hall was completely silent. "Any questions?"

It was Prime who asked: "Are there any other leads on this case, Prowl?"

"A few," admitted the tactician. "The production line wasn't a common one and the weapon, too, isn't easy to get. Also, we're still analysing the data from the street cameras, but... our assailant is probably a very skilled hacker as well, because so far we couldn't get any images from them."

A few other questions followed, but none were of substance. Prime turned to the quiet saboteur next to him. "You knew," he said.

"Sure, Ah did, Prime." Jazz leaned back. "Prowl came back from the crime scene and told ma then."

Prime nodded. "I see... do you think this is a Decepticon?"

"Could be**,**" Jazz sighed. "But what Prowl didn't say is that we fear that it's a mechformer. That would be a catastrophe."

Optimus' optics flashed up in surprise. "A mechformer? Someone who can turn into other mechs? I thought they were a legend."

"Nope, they're not**,**" Jazz shrugged. "They're just rare, because they have such a high energy requirement. Met one once in Helex. Nice guy, but a bit... scatter-brained."

"I see..." Optimus looked to Prowl who went on with his long, long report. "So, what are you doing now?"

Jazz smiled grimly. "Our best to find that guy and to put him into a nice and cushy cell. Forever."

* * *

But that was easier said then done after every single investigation led into a blind end. It was as if the murderer had appeared in that alley, killed Tumbler and than vanished. Four orns went past without any hint, then, six orns after Tumbler had been found, Prowl got another call from Backbeat**.**

"Sir? We have found another empty shell. Same kind of wound as with the first one. Would you please come?"

He came. This corpse had been found under a bridge and was already two orns old. No witness, no nothing, but same modus operandi. A deep wound in the chest, a cut main energon line, a gutted and empty spark chamber.

It was with a dark foreboding feeling that Prowl walked around the victim, searching for new details.

"This was Hosepipe," said Backbeat who watched the SIC a few metres away. "He had a small shop for gloss paint and such things. No political interest, but if pushed**,** he had always supported the Autobots. No enemies, no debts, no nothing so far." The Enforcer looked up from his datapad. "Frankly, Prowl, there is no reason why a mech would simply decide to murder him."

"At least no reason we see," said Prowl. "What about secrets? Could there be any?"

"Maybe, but if there are**,** we haven't found them yet..." A helpless shrug.

"Could a lover give us more information, maybe?"

Backbeat's face fell. "He was bonded," he said quietly. "Very happily at that."

Bonded. Prowl looked at the motionless grey and dead frame at his pedes. That made this murder a double-murder. His spark, if possible, got even heavier. "I'll arrange the melting. They deserve at least that much."

Boding was a rare thing in their society, even though every bot could theoretically do it. But to bond, to open up your very self with your deepest secrets and darkest emotions wasn't something easily done. Especially, because nothing could reverse that act of joining one's spark forever. There was no possible way to break it, when one discovered that the other mech wasn't who you had thought or had changed during their long lives that spanned millenia. There wasn't a blocking it, to be alone for a moment, to not feel the other for even an astrosecond. It simply was and even death treated two bonded mechs as one being and claimed both, when one left the real word. As a result bonded pairs were treated with respect and envy, because while everyone wished for such a bond, few found another mech who they really loved enough. Loved with such selfless abandon to decide that life wasn't worth anything without the other, and to trade the very parts of their spark...

"That's a good idea..." Backbeat looked at his victim and then and the SIC of the Autobot army. "Prowl, you know that I really don't want to ask, but the guys are demanding permission to investigate Jazz as well. Now that every other lead is dead and we have another two victims... Jazz would look guilty if we don't."

"I understand. You have my permission." Prowl shuttered his optics. "We have no new leads?"

Backbeat hesitated. "Not really. The medics that were here earlier said that the wound was made with the same kind of weapon, but that the amount of energy was different this time, higher."

Prowl frowned. "That means nothing."

And they both knew it. There were hundreds of possible reasons why the energy was higher. From the possibility that the murderer simply hadn't cared to the reasonable fact that maybe the armour had looked heavier in the dark and the murderer wanted to be sure.

"Prowl..." Backbeat had put the datapad away and stepped next to him. He hated that he had to do this to a bot he respected professionally and as a friend. But it was necessary. They had a murderer to catch. "I need to question you about Jazz. It's said that you two are friends and as his superior..."

Prowl's doorwings dropped for a moment, then he got himself under control. "Sure. Lead the way, Backbeat."

Backbeat took them to a small café that he had discovered a long time ago and since then regularly visited. It was one of the few places, where he hadn't heard any complaint about bad or diluted energon from yet. He wished this would be just a visit with a friend, but it wasn't and so, after they sat down and had an energon cube, he asked, "You and Jazz, you don't just work professionally together, but you're friends as well, right?"

"Yes." Prowl took a small sip.

"Good friends?"

For a moment, the SIC hesitated**,** then he answered**,** "The best."

Backbeat was surprised for a moment. There was a world of emotions behind that answer, he could feel it. Prowl wouldn't say 'the best', if he weren't completely and unshakeably sure that Jazz saw it the same way. Interesting.

"How did you get to know each other?" Maybe not a question needed, but it gave him an opening to put their friendship in perspective.

"We met at the beginning of the war in Tarn." Prowl smiled softly. "Tarn was really far removed from any influence of the Senate, but to keep up the image they had to accept the annual visits of the Senate's representatives. I was a young bot among this group, just a secretary**,** nothing more. Jazz, on the other hand, was still a musician." _And smuggler,_ added the tactician in his own thoughts quietly. "We met at a concert the ruler of Tarn gave in honour of the representatives."

"Then you really knew each other for a long time." A lot longer than Backbeat had guessed. "As his superior and best friend, you probably know his capabilities the best. Does he have the skills to deactivate a bot like that? To hack the cameras and erase every image of himself?"

"Yes."

Short and to the point. It was one of the things Backbeat liked about Prowl. Still, while the answer was expected, it still gave him a cold shudder. "Is he mentally able to...?"

"Yes." Prowl took another sip. "And before you ask, yes he has already done it in the war. It was his job." And if there was sorrow in Prowl's voice, Backbeat didn't comment on it.

"Only with orders?"

"No," admitted the SIC slowly. "But as a TIC he's able and allowed to decide in dire circumstances for himself. In every situation when this was the case, I would have done the same."

It was a big vote of trust to say such a thing now, in this situation. As he looked at the stoic SIC, who nearly didn't show how much that discussion hurt him, he wondered how many mechs had lost their life to one of their servos... He buried that thought fast, knowing that war meant different rules and said**,** "Prowl, you said at the time of the first murder that Jazz was with you. Do you still say that?"

"Of course." No hesitation.

"And during the time of this murder?"

Prowl sighed and looked towards the street, towards everywhere but the face of the Enforcer. "He wasn't with me. As far as I know**, **he was alone in his apartment."

No alibi. "As far as you know? You mean the location ping with Teletraan, right?" The Enforcer had been informed of that new security measure as well, of course. They had been satisfied, then.

Prowl nodded**, **and Backbeat looked at the data he had collected so far. He didn't like what he saw. "You admitted that Jazz has the knowledge to hack the cameras on the street. Is he able to hack Teletraan?"

No answer for a long moment. Then Prowl's wings flicked and dropped, as if they couldn't decide what to do**.** Finally, the Praxian looked at him, and Backbeat couldn't say what that strange emotion in Prowl's optics were.

"He wouldn't need to, Backbeat. He's the TIC of the Autobot army, he has unrestricted access to everything."

It was a damning picture that created itself in front of Backbeat's optics. The only thing that spoke against the theory that Jazz was the murderer was his alibi. And of course his good reputation. But a good Enforcer has never stopped for reputation or credits.

"Prowl, do you think Jazz deactivated Hosepipe and his bonded?"

"No." Prowl looked at the still nearly full cube in his hand. "I know that he didn't." He stood. "Do you have any other questions?"

"Eh, no." Backbeat hastily stood as well. "Thank you for taking the time to answer them. I'm sure you have much to do." He hesitated for a moment, then he laid his hand on Prowl's upper arm. "Don't worry, if Jazz is innocent I'll do my best to prove it."

Prowl didn't react at first, then a soft, nearly shy smile crossed his face. It showed a vulnerability that stole Backbeat's breath away. "Thank you."

* * *

Jazz's orn had been a quiet one, mostly used for reading the long and tedious reports of his various agents around Cybertron. Despite his big intelligence network, it was an eternal mystery to him why most Autobots thought he didn't do paperwork. They knew what job he did and that the job was mainly about information, right? And information meant paperwork, datapads and huge amounts of used storage space. Not to mention analysis and evaluation. So why did they think he only went on parties or, worse, did nothing?

Jazz didn't understand it, but on this orn he wished the stories were true. The office was too silent, and too many reports mentioned the fallout of the murder and Jazz's need for an alibi. He couldn't imagine how this all would look if Prowl hadn't spontaneously decided to throw his rulebook out of the window and to lie.

The thought of Prowl though made his spark happier, and he decided that he should do something for the Praxian. Maybe get a ticket to a concert? Or take him to one of those classy and high-priced restaurants?

He was already storing away the last report and ending the statistical programs when he got a ping on the communication network.

"Jazz here," he answered. "What can Ah do for ya, Prime?"

"Please come to my office immediately, Jazz."

The saboteur frowned. Despite the 'please' this was very clearly an order. Something must have happened. He could say goodbye to his plans for a nice evening with Prowl.

"I'm coming," he answered and cut the commline.

Prime's office wasn't far away. He went down the hallway, grabbing a small cube at the energon dispenser on the way and went into the office without knocking. Prime was waiting for him, so why waste time on knocking, right?

As the door closed behind him automatically, he realised with surprise that Prime was far from alone and that the three bots with him weren't from the Autobot High Command, or even soldiers.

Optimus Prime stood next to his desk and gestured him nearer.

"Gentlemechs, may I introduce you to Jazz. As you know, he serves as my Third in Command and is Head of the Intelligence Service." Prime was polite, very polite, and that made Jazz tense. Optimus was never this polite, if he was comfortable. "Jazz, these are the Enforcers of Iacon and the lead investigators of the homicides -"

"Homicides?" interrupted Jazz. "As in more than one?"

"Yes," said a dark green Enforcer darkly. "This morning**, **another bot was found deactivated and shortly after, his bonded was found to be perished as well."

"Oh." Jazz felt a sharp wave of dread closing in around his spark.

"The weapon and style of the murder hint that the assailant is the same person as the one who murdered Tumbler." The Enforcer eyed Jazz with a certain wariness. "And because you are the only bot who fits the description of the witness and who has the needed skill set..."

"Ah understand." And he did, really. But normally he was the hunter and not the prey. "But don't ya need permission for that?"

"We have it," said another Enforcer. "Prowl gave it initially and Optimus Prime confirmed it a few breems ago."

"Prowl..." murmured Jazz surprised, before he caught himself. Prowl wouldn't betray him or sacrifice him for peace. Every other bot, maybe even Prime, but not Prowl. Never Prowl. So, if Prowl did give them the permission to treat Jazz like a suspect anyway, then he had very good reasons for it. Jazz felt his processor heat up as he thought about the possible reasons and found more than he liked. They all had one thing in common: Things were not going well for Jazz.

And even worse, if they thought him the murderer, they would probably see through Prowl's lie as well. This, he couldn't let happen. It was time to suit up, to get into the game and to win it.

With an easy smile**,** he emptied the energon cube and nodded towards the Enforcers. "Well, mechs, if ya have da permission, Ah'm going to help ya were Ah can. What do ya want to know?"

For a moment the Enforcers seemed stunned by his cooperativeness, but they caught on fast.

One of the officers nodded towards the door**.** "If we're informed correctly, your shift has just ended. Would you please follow us to our headquarters?"

"Sure." He turned to Prime, who couldn't hide his worried state any longer. "Until tomorrow, OP."

"Yes, until then, Jazz." He sighed. "I'm sure this misconception will clear itself soon."

"... Ah hope so."

He walked out of the office and through the whole Autobot main building surrounded by the Enforcers, watched avidly by hundreds of optics. It was a humiliating walk, but he held his head high and none of the onlookers were able to tell his real thoughts.

* * *

After he had heard that Jazz had been called in for an interrogation, Prowl ended his shift and drove towards the headquarters. There he sat down in the waiting area and waited, together with the bond**-**mates and children of other minor criminals. It was a small and depressing room, with chairs that definitely weren't made for frames with wings or sensitive back struts or any being that was forced to sit on them for longer than a single breem. Prowl made a notice to arrange new seats for the police headquarters soon. They really didn't need to torture innocent citizens needlessly.

None of these things distracted him from the deep worry he felt. Around him**,** families came and went, few recognising him thanks to his normal policy to remain in the background, and time passed. Much more time than he had anticipated and slowly the room emptied until he was alone.

"Heya, Prowl," said Jazz softly, when he finally walked through that thrice damned door that Prowl had kept on staring down. "Did ya wait long?"

He stood and smiled, feeling a rush of relief. "Not too long. How did it go?"

Jazz sighed. "Not well. They wanted an alibi, but at the time of da murder Ah was home and listening to music alone."

"What about the location ping and the street cameras?"

"They said Ah could hack and manipulate both," said Jazz angrily. "And da worst? They're right. Ah could. Pit, Ah did in da past. It ain't too difficult, not with ma security clearance."

Prowl nodded, having the same clearance, he knew only too well how open and vulnerable some systems were to them. He had often wondered before if most bots even understood just how much power lay in a few security codes and trust. He was almost sure they didn't or Jazz and he wouldn't have the jobs they did. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, they asked about what weapons Ah've access to. Asked about a bunch of them, some worse, some better, some plain forbidden," he sounded bitter. "In reality, they just wanted to know about energy daggers! Which, of course, are as difficult to get for me as energon cubes, because Ah've unlimited access to every weapon vault of the whole slagging army. Ah knew it, they knew it, and still they kept asking."

For a moment, Prowl just stood there, shifting on his pedes**,** unsure how to comfort Jazz, then he stepped forward and hugged him. Forget possible cameras, forget that maybe somebot can come in, Jazz needed him now. "They're just doing their job."

"Ah know, Prowler. Still, it's frustrating."

Prowl squeezed and let go. "You're trained against torture, Primus, you've trained nearly half the Autobot army against interrogation. This is nothing for you."

The saboteur had to grin at that. "Of course it is. Ah could give them some pointers."

Which the Enforcers would accept with as much grace and thankfulness as the last Senate had accepted the Decepticons**'** demands of unconditional surrender. Prowl's wings twitched**,** amused, as he said**,** "Maybe after this whole mess. I'm sure they would... profit."

"Anything for ya." Jazz looked around in the empty room and grimaced. "Let's just go, yeah? Ah've been in this building far too long and Ah had hoped for a few nice joors with ya before this. "

That... sounded like an incredibly good idea. "Agreed," said the Praxian. He opened the door and both stepped outside.

And froze. Before them were reporters, all of them eager, all of them now screaming their questions. Flashes were a clear sign of many photos being taken.

Jazz didn't take offence as Prowl nearly stumbled back. This was a nightmare situation for the Praxian, and if Jazz was being truthful, for him as well. If all of these photos made it into the news channel**, **any kind of privacy was lost. But there was no way to stop it now. Already**, **some reporters were uploading the photos.

"Ah guess we should've expected them," he said slowly. And here Jazz had thought this orn couldn't get worse. "Please, gentlemechs," he finally yelled**.** "One question at a time!"

The questions came and came. They answered no personal questions out of principle, as well as no questions about their work, so the reporters were visibly disappointed to be confined to questions about the homicides. But the delight they felt to ask things like "Prowl, do you believe Jazz to be the murderer?" was great anyway.

After they had fought their way through the crowd and escaped on the highway, Prowl contacted Jazz via the comm system.

"This will be all over Cybertron over in less than two joors," he said darkly. "Even the Decepticons will show this."

"Especially da 'Cons," answered Jazz and without one drop of his usual cheerfulness in his voice. "And once da public is interested, we've got a whole different game here. Some might not care who the murderer is, to get ma behind bars."

"And to keep the public quiet."

"Yes, that as well." For a long moment they drove next to each other, then the saboteur asked quietly: "Whatever happens, ya'll be by ma side, right?"

"Forever," was the solemn anwer.

In the morning, when they both drove to work again, mechs talked behind their backs and pointed towards them. It was the most interesting story of the vorn and every mech believed to know more than the next one. A few even claimed to be the eyewitness and the end of the orn rumours and facts weren't so easy to discern any more.


	2. Chapter 2

The last orn had been a bad one for Jazz and Prowl. The interview with them was played on every news channel in a loop, mechs asked them what happened, and a few accused Jazz on the open street or demanded to know from Prowl how he could support such a monster. As expected, their political enemies tried to exploit the whole situation and soon stories about failed missions, cruel decisions, abandoned mechs on the battlefield and worse were flying around. The serial murderer had been gifted with a nickname by various reporters that the citizens took up with enthusiasm. The "spark-killer" was in every bot**'**s mouth.

And the longer the media circus continued, the worse it looked for Jazz. He was painted as a cold killer who has lost every emotion, every semblance of mercy, in the war**;** who had killed hundreds of bots and sent even more on suicide missions. Someone who could not be trusted, who was a liar and a manipulator, a murderer and torturer.

But the very, very worst was, that all these stories had a kernel of truth that hit far too close home for Jazz. He tried to ignore it, but as the Head of Intelligence it was his job to observe, next to the more obvious things, the rumours and the public mood. He saw how they were all turning against him, slowly, joor by joor.

That orn, Jazz recharged again by Prowl, seeking comfort in the small apartment. Both weren't woken by their carefully set alarm, but by the doorbell. It kept ringing and ringing.

Slowly, Prowl struggled to sit up and Jazz looked questioningly at him**.** "Ah thought there aren't many people who know were ya live, Prowl..."

"There aren't," answered the other one grimly. "You, Optimus, Ironhide, Ratchet, that was it."

"So..."

"That's none of them." He rose from the berth. "I gave you all the code for the door."

Jazz shuttered his optics. "How high is da chance that Optimus told da Enforcers were to find ya?"

"Too high," answered Prowl with a wry smile.

Without a further word**,** he walked to the apartment door and opened it. As expected, two Enforcers stood in front of him, one of them – to his comfort – was Backbeat.

"Good morning," he greeted them politely, even though a big part of him wanted nothing more than to close the door in their faces. "May I ask how you know where I live?"

"Good morning," said Backbeat awkwardly. "Sorry that we disturbed you this early, Prowl, but you see, the location ping said that Jazz is here..."

"He is," Prowl admitted. "Why do you want him?"

"Oh, well..." Backbeat looked at his colleague, but the other Enforcer stood back. Probably a wise decision, if one interpreted the aggressive raised doorwings of the Praxian correctly. Prowl wasn't a nice morning mech. "You see, we were concerned, because there was nearly no data about a mech called 'Drifter' in the databases, so we asked around."

"You asked Optimus," said Prowl dryly.

"Well, no**.** First we tried to ask you. But we couldn't find your address..."

Prowl merely raised an optic ridge. "What about comm lines?"

Backbeat seemed to get a bit smaller. "Well... when the guys had realised that they had found something strange... and couldn't find Jazz and your living address, but had an unknown mech called 'Drifter', they might have gotten a bit excited. It was after all the first lead in this..."

"And as a result, they decided that it was suspicious and maybe criminal and went directly to Prime to ignore every single security protocol or need for privacy." If the voice of the Praxian was cutting, well, he was in the right here.

Defeated, Backbeat nodded. "Yes."

"Great." Prowl vented. "And why in Primus' name are you now standing here, in front of my door? After all, I'm sure that Prime explained that 'Drifter' is the name I'm renting this apartment under."

The Enforcer looked again at his colleague, who now decided to add his part: "If you permit, I will explain this to you. My designation is Turnout." He bowed. "After our team was informed about the irregularities, we decided immediately to review all the data we had of Jazz and you, Prowl. As a result, a few interesting questions have appeared, which need to be filled. For that we request that you accompany us to the Enforcer headquarters."

Dread engulfed Prowl with powerful arms and didn't let him go. Only pure willpower and the experience to appear strong and unflappable in the face of any situation in hundreds of vorns of war made it now possible that he calmly nodded.

"If it's needed in the investigation, I'll have to help. Excuse me for a moment, I'll have to inform Jazz."

Before he could turn, Backbeat grabbed his arm. "I'm sorry, but we can't allow that."

Prowl froze for a moment, ready to fight, then he forced himself to relax and smile in understanding. "The alibi, right? You want to ask about it."

Backbeat let his arm go and Turnout nodded. "Jazz has only described roughly what happened in that evening and you didn't at all. We want to confirm his story."

"I see." His spark longed to give Jazz a kiss, to hug him and to get a small bit of comfort. But with an audience, it was impossible. "Jazz?" he shouted. "Could you please come?"

He didn't doubt that Jazz had been listening in to every word said, but there was no need to increase the suspicion of the Enforcers even more. Jazz appeared in the hallway, walking casually and seemingly curious as to why there were Enforcers at the door. He was a good actor, one of the best.

Backbeat didn't hesitate an astrosecond in explaining the same things to Jazz again, while Turnout was watching every single one of their movements.

Prowl nearly smiled at that. Did Turnout really believe they would make such a rookie mistake here and now? No. They were better than that.

He went with the Enforcers and the interrogation was long and thorough. Mostly they concentrated on the orn of the first murder.

When had he seen Jazz? What did they do? How long did they do it? Though many questions were about the deca-orns before, or the time around the second double-homicide. He answered and answered and answered, mostly with the truth. But the alibi had to hold and so he changed one tiny little thing**.**

He described the night after the murder as the one where the murder had happened and claimed that he hadn't met Jazz (besides calling him on the commline) directly after talking to Backbeat. It was a simple lie, but effective. Both Jazz and he knew exactly what to avoid telling and the many tiny details that weren't dangerous made the stories too exact, too similar to each other to be an invented lie.

When he was finally allowed to go, he left behind more than a few frustrated Enforcers searching for the clue they had missed. Prowl hoped that his performance had been flawless.

Jazz, despite the fact that he should now be in the middle of his work shift, was waiting for him in the room with the uncomfortable chairs. With a groan**,** he rose when Prowl entered**.**

"Finally, Ah thought maybe they wanted to keep ya!"

"They certainly tried their best," answered the Praxian tiredly. Without a full recharge and being interrogated most of the orn, his blue optics had become distinctly lighter. He was in no condition to go to work today and was happy that he had already called in for an orn off. "What are you doing here? Not that I'm not ungrateful, but what about your work?"

Jazz's face fell. "Ah got suspended until the criminal is found."

Prowl was stunned. "But they need you!"

"Yeah... not any more it seems."

"No," Prowl said with conviction, the stress of the orn taking over. "Optimus knows that it wasn't you, he trusts you. Trusts us. So why..."

Jazz put his hand on the agitated Praxian's doorwing. "Calm down, Prowler. It's all right, it's only temporary."

"But-"

"No buts." With skill, he caressed the pointed lower edge of the wing. "Optimus had no choice. Worried citizens had called their governors about a serial killer on the loose, and those in turn had called Prime with demands to do something. And the angry soldiers who want to use the chance to get me into trouble haven't helped things either..."

"You mean Magnus," said Prowl coldly.

Jazz shrugged. "Among others." He pulled a pink energon cube out of subspace. "Here, for ya. Thought ya might need it."

Prowl smiled. "Thank you."

* * *

Backbeat was a good mech, a good friend and a good Enforcer. On most orns, this triad of his life was in perfect harmony. But since the murder of Tumbler, now a deca-orn ago, he felt unsettled. Everything seemed to hint that Jazz was the culprit. Their witness remained true, didn't change a single detail of his description and Jazz could have done it easily. But there seemed to be no reason behind those killings, no motive. And then there was Prowl's alibi, that also sounded genuine and yet...

Yet Backbeat couldn't forget that Jazz twice been found recharging within Prowl's apartment, that both times the other one had waited until the interrogation was over. Couldn't forget the certainty behind those two words 'the best' and the shy, true smile when he promised to defend Jazz's innocence.

As an Enforcer he had to investigate further, had to follow his intuition. As a friend, he wanted to help Prowl and to simply believe him. As a mech, he simply wanted the murderer in a cell and the streets safe. And so he ignored his friendship and came here.

The secretary gave him a sign that it was his turn. Finally. He stood and entered Optimus Prime's office, situated on the highest floor of the Autobot headquarters. A bit nervously, he looked around. It wasn't decorated with show pieces that only served to intimidate the visitor and that many of the richer trade mechs had. No, this office was elegant, maybe with a hint of luxury, but mainly it was for one thing only – working.

He relaxed and smiled at the Prime, who sat at his desk**.** "Thank you for seeing me."

"No need to thank me." Optimus pointed to the seat in front of the desk. "Sit down. What can I do for you?"

He took the offer. Behind Optimus stood a big red warrior frame. With his arms crossed, he appeared more to be a bodyguard than anything else, but Backbeat had heard of him – Ironhide. Bodyguard, best friend of Optimus Prime and, even more important, friend and colleague to Jazz and Prowl as well.

"As you know, we're investigating a series of murders at the moment," he began slowly, carefully choosing every word. "We have a witness report whose descriptions fit Jazz very well, but Prowl gave him an alibi. We don't want to imply anything, but we would like to know more about both of them and because you're their friends and colleagues..."

It was awkward. One didn't interrogate the Prime himself. One simply didn't. But Prowl was too reclusive, too secretive, to have many other friends. Backbeat was already as close to the tactician as most mechs ever came and the further the investigation led, the more they discovered the same traits on Jazz. The spy had many acquaintances, was well liked, admired, invited to nearly every social event, but no one really knew anything with certainty. Backbeat imagined, that it was a precaution, born out of need, if one wanted to keep and survive the job as the Head of Intelligence. Now, it worked against the Enforcers as well as against enemy spies.

"I understand," said Optimus Prime friendly and folded his hands on the desk. "What do you want to know?"

"Thank you." He let his optics linger on Ironhide to show that this question was meant for him as well. "Do you think Jazz is capable of such things?"

For a long, long moment neither of the Autobots spoke, then Prime admitted with obvious regret**,** "I don't know. There seems to be no motive besides the murder in itself."

Backbeat waited for him to elaborate, instead Ironhide added: "We always knew that Jazz had a dark side, it's what makes him so good." Good, maybe even the best, in a line that lived on betrayal, secrets, lies and murder. "But Jazz always did what he had to in the name of the Autobots, and never because for the fun of it."

The Enforcer nodded. It was frightening on a very primal level how even Jazz's best friends couldn't deny that he was capable of cold-sparked murder. They always added the motive, for the Autobots, for the greater good... but what if they all simply didn't see the motive right now? Time to increase the pressure. Backbeat pulled a datapad from subspace, called up the pictures on it and handed it Optimus Prime.

"Do these murders look as if they had been committed by somebot who had fun doing it?"

Optimus looked at the datapad again with the pictures who showed too much detail, too much information on how easily their lives could be extinguished. But it had happened fast, with almost clinical precision. "No," he answered slowly.

Ironhide, who saw the images over Optimus shoulder, showed no visible change in his serious expression.

Backbeat had known that both had already seen these pictures, but still he had hoped for a bigger reaction. He angrily chastised himself. These were no civilians, but soldiers who had seen the horror of countless battlefields. Pictures of a couple of clean murders wouldn't shock them and maybe friendship and comradeship would persuade them, even if only unconsciously, to hide important details.

"See, I think these were done by a highly professional killer," he tried in a gentler tone. "I don't know why. I don't know who. But Jazz his our best lead. So, I have to ask, if Jazz would have seen a reason why one of those Autobots had to die, would he deactivate them? Would he be able to hide it until now?"

Ironhide and Optimus Prime shared a long look. Backbeat tensed. He knew, from countless vorns of questioning, that this was the moment of decision. Then, Ironhide nodded, very slowly, and turned to the Enforcer.

"You have to understand that Jazz doesn't like being forced to kill, but he does it without losing a single recharge about it, if he deems it necessary," said Ironhide. He didn't sound condemning, more like stating a long known fact. It probably was. "And he's a very good actor. Good enough, that we all forget what exactly his job is, and call him friend."

"We do not just call him friend, Ironhide, he is our friend," corrected Optimus Prime gently, but behind the words was a will of steel.

It was more than just a reprimand to Ironhide. It was mainly a declaration to Backbeat that Jazz still had the full protection and backing of the Prime. He would not sacrifice his TIC for anything less than absolute proof that he was the murderer.

The warrior sent his friend an unreadable look, then agreed quietly: "That he is. And as his friend I've already accepted long ago, that he's capable and willing to do many things, if he has motivation enough."

The Prime leaned back in his chair, obviously thinking the situation over. "But that is the problem here, right? There seems to be no motivation."

"That's true. We're still searching for it," Backbeat confessed.

"Keep searching," said Optimus and it was more an order than anything else. "Do you have further questions?"

"Yes. We have noticed that Prowl and Jazz have known each other for a very long time and seem to be quite... intimate with each other. Do you know if they're just friends or maybe more?"

Optimus smiled. "Oh, they're friends, best friends even. But more... if they are, they've never outright said it."

"But they wouldn't reveal it, either," said Ironhide with a grin. "They like their privacy."

That had Backbeat already noticed. He just hadn't thought they would hide such an important detail from those they considered their closest friends. " Have you observed anything to suggest that they are or aren't? Do they have other interface partners?"

"Some." Ironhide hesitated. "But there are many who simply claimed they had interfaced with them, too. Jazz especially has many such admirers. And they never confirmed or denied those rumours."

Figures. Another dead end. No bot would admit to lying about interfacing with someone. And if Prowl and Jazz wanted to keep a relationship secret, these rumours were a gift from Primus.

"Thank you." He tried to smile professionally. "Do you believe that Prowl would lie to Enforcers about an alibi?"

Most Enforcers had simply filed that option under 'very unlikely'. It was Prowl, the walking rulebook, the Autobot who could recite every law backwards and never even drove faster than allowed. Prowl, who even the Decepticons knew as a stickler for rules, because he had once quoted the Decepticons**'**laws regarding prisoner treatment while being confined in Tarn. But... Backbeat knew Prowl. Maybe not well, but well enough to know that he felt deeply.

For a pump cycle they were silent, then Optimus Prime sighed. "I don't want to bore you with some old war stories, but Prowl is... a lot sneakier that most give him credit for." He smiled. "If Prowl is helping Jazz, then I'll say without hesitation that there is a very, very good reason why they're doing this."

"They kind of keep each other in check," added Ironhide. "Balance each other out. Together they're a completely different matter."

This was new information. While most of the interview had pushed the odds even more against Jazz and now Prowl, this... this could turn the tables again. The fact that one bot might cave in under the trauma of the war was believable. But two? And then to claim that two bots as different as Prowl and Jazz would come to the same conclusion and start a murder spree? No, this was a ridiculous thought.

So what? What possibility remained?

He stood and thanked the Prime and Ironhide for their patience and time. A few breems later, he was driving back to the headquarters absent-mindedly, most of his processor reviewing the new data. Something... he was overlooking something. He could already feel it. Backbeat opened up a data uplink to the Enforcer headquarters to transfer the interview while mulling over the whole situation.

"Help!" screamed a voice in terror as he drove past the crystal park. "Oh, please, don't no!"

Backbeat was fully braking before he had even registered what was happening. A bot behind the crystals, screaming for help. The spark-killer? Was he attacking a new victim? Without hesitation**,** he transformed, released his weapon and started running into the nearest path between the crystals. Where...?

"Help! No, get away from me!"

There. He turned right, then left, the path got smaller. He slowed down, tried to be quiet. Tried to surprise whoever this assailant was. His spark clenched with every new scream. If it was the killer**,** he would shoot him down**,** Jazz or not.

"No! Don't..."

He was nearly there. He tried to calm his racing engine, then he jumped around the corner – into a tiny empty clearing with no other exit. No victim, no killer... no mech anywhere. He cycled and turned. He must have taken the wrong junction. Maybe, if he was fast enough -

Something hit him with brutal efficiency in the side. He stumbled and before he could even see the attacker, a kick let his gun fly far away. He fell to the ground unarmed, and tried to scramble away, to get up again. In horror**,** he looked at the smirking, familiar mech in front of him, who walked closer and closer.

"Too easy, Backbeat. You Enforcer bots are always too easy. Just a bit of screaming and you're all running towards me." He raised the energy dagger in his hand. "And now... please don't move. I would hate to make a mess on those beautiful crystals."

"You... you don't have to do this," Backbeat said, while fear slowly, inexorably**,** crept into his spark. "See reason, this is not a good decision."

"Oh, it isn't a good decision," agreed the mech easily. "It's a terrific one!"

He attacked fast and with vorns**-**long practice. Backbeat, trained in the mandatory Enforcer fighting lessons, was able to dodge the first strike, but the second hit his shoulder. In pain, he cried out and realised with cold horror, that he couldn't move the left arm any more.

"Whatever your reason is," Backbeat tried it again, teeth clenched in pain and desperation, only too aware that he was pleading for his very spark. "I'm sure we can talk about it."

A mocking laugh answered him. "Talking never helps."

Another attack sliced deeply into his chest. Energon was now dripping on the ground, staining the white crystals. Backbeat's energon. He was getting slower, weaker. This would be over soon.

"Please..." he heard himself say.

The silver mech with the white visor only grinned. "In the end, they all beg."

He raised the dagger again and Backbeat knew that this time he wouldn't be able to avoid it, to protect his spark and with it his very life. With a sob, he stared at the weapon and wished desperately for a miracle.

None came.

* * *

In the enforcer headquarters everything continued normally, everyone still unaware that one of their own had left them forever. The only hint was one small database which sent request after request through the open uplink to either close the uplink or to send more of the interview than the name of the file. But all it received back was endless, dead static.

And so, on its screen flashed one error message after another, and above all, the file name - "Murderer: Jazz".

* * *

Prowl was at work, and for the first time in hundreds of vorns Jazz had nothing to do. It was a strange feeling. A bit like floating, but without direction or drive, a state of simply being. Some might call it peaceful, but for him it was an alien state. He was made to move, to change, to create things and to do something. Many had admired that endless state of energy and optimism in him, even though the latter was often more of a façade projected to keep everything going.

Jazz hadn't understood why they looked up to it, until he had met Prowl, a mech that was the very definition of a workaholic. But instead of working himself into the ground, Prowl mastered his many tasks with ease and even found time to talk to a musician at the edge of the annual party in Tarn. Despite the fact that he hadn't recharged in two orns and only finished the last report a joor after he had entered the party. The Praxian had confessed, much later, that he had started to talk to Jazz because he had kept tapping his pede to the rhythm. There had been no other reason, only this small expression of Jazz's boundless drive.

They started with talking, but soon they had been dancing and laughing and had kept on moving. Together. Side by side, through their careers, the entire war, until this very orn.

When others called Prowl a workaholic, he remembered that party in Tarn were everything began and smiled, because it was true and he loved him for it. Prowl, who had the same energy, the same drive as him and kept up, where everyone else had already slowed down and was left behind.

Prowl, who would understand why Jazz was now racing around Iacon's racing track on a strut breaking speed until complete exhaustion would claim him. Why he was enjoying the wind on his chassis and to drive round for round, until all other racers were watching from the sidelines. Why he was here, and nowhere else on his free orn.

"Driver Jazz," yelled a loudspeaker announcement suddenly. "Driver Jazz, please take the next exit and come to Garage Five. I repeat, Driver Jazz, please..."

In irritation, Jazz accelerated once more. He didn't want to stop, not now. The next exit of the race track was coming up fast and for a split astrosecond he contemplated on simply racing on, then he turned sharply with the help of his brakes and entered the exit at double the speed it was built for. He missed the wall by centimetres and entered the garage street with a speed that made every single mech's head turn. Jazz smirked.

Garage Five came into sight far too fast and in front of it were gathered around twenty mechs, who now all looked at the speeding silver racing car. A few grabbed into their subspaces and –weapons? Jazz's engine sputtered in surprise. It caused him to slow down and instead of braking, he transformed and slid the last bit on his pedes, which emitted sparks and grew uncomfortably warm.

Now he could recognize the assembled mechs – Enforcers. Heavily armoured and shielded Enforcers with weapons in their hands and grim expressions. He came to a stop in front of them. Training and experience advised him to take flight or prepare to fight, but instead he said:

"Gentlemechs, Ah guess ya're not here 'cause ya want an autograph from ma, right?"

A smaller Enforcer fought his way through the special unit. Jazz recognized him without difficulty as Turnout, who straightened himself and tried to look important.

"Are you Jazz, Third in Command of the Autobot army, Head of the Intelligence Service?"

That sounded official. And considering all those Enforcers, who now formed a circle around him, Jazz knew with absolute certainty what would come. "Yes, that's ma."

Turnout nodded, having expected nothing else, of course. "You're hereby arrested for multiple homicides, among them a bonded couple and an Enforcer."

Flight. He shouldn't have stayed and talked with them like a civilised mech. He should have listened to his intuition and used his speed to flee, to move far away. Now, it was too late. A mech stepped forward, shackles in his hand. Jazz eyed them with contempt.

"Please," said the Enforcer politely. He was young and nearly embarrassed that he was the one to put Jazz in chains.

Taking pity on him, Jazz took the inhibitor handcuffs and put them around his own wrists. Instantly he felt weaker and slower. Then, he looked at Turnout, and searched the crowd, missing a familiar face.

"Enforcer, mmh?" he said slowly, with dawning understanding. "What happened to Backbeat?"

The ripple of anger and grief through the Enforcers was palpable and answer enough. Turnout's mouth twisted into an ugly grimace as he answered coldly: "You should know, murderer! Special Unit Gamma, take him away and be vigilant! He might try to escape."

They took him away. If Jazz had thought the walk through the headquarters with three Enforcers had been bad, than this was much, much worse. The whole track was watching and whispering and talking. Mechs pointed at him, and someone threw an empty cube while screaming 'spark-killer!'. Soon, others joined in, until it was one loud chorus of insults and abuse. The Enforcers said nothing, only dragged him on.

It was with relief when they reached the waiting prisoner transport and Jazz could step into it, away from the world that had turned against him. The heavy, reinforced door fell shut and he was alone. Sitting on a low bench, the only noise in the small cage was his own stuttering engine and harsh venting. In despair, he put his helmet into trembling hands and shuttered his optics.

They started moving. But for once, Jazz was utterly still.

* * *

The room they put Jazz in had one chair to which his wrists were bound, one table to which a chain at his pede was fastened and three guards. In other circumstances these security measures would have amused Jazz, instead it was a confirmation of the fear they felt in his vicinity.

They were probably justified in this fear as well, if they knew of his skills. Up to now, he had counted no less than six opportunities to escape and had contemplated on every single one of them to take it. But he had still hope that they hadn't found undeniable proof that pointed in his direction. And where would he go anyway? If found outside Autobot borders, his fate with the Decepticons would be public execution if he was lucky, and within the Autobot territory he would be forever hunted as a monster.

He could do nothing, but wait and hope... at least for now.

Finally, the door opened and Turnout entered, behind him a haggard-looking dark-green mech with black lowlights and little horns, who froze as he saw Jazz. Something very similar to terror flashed across his face.

"Blip?" asked Turnout. "It's all right, he's restrained. He can't hurt anyone."

The mech looked at the floor, visibly venting in an attempt to calm himself. "I know." He made two steps forward, entering the room, but keeping Turnout between himself and Jazz at all times.

"It's great that you're willing to do this," said Turnout softly. "Because you're the only one who has witnessed the murderer and lived, we need your confirmation that we have the genuine culprit. Please believe me, when I say that if there had been another way I would have spared you this."

He waved a hand towards Jazz, making clear what he considered as 'this'.

Blip, though, managed a shaky smile. "I'm sure you would have, Turnout. But we all have to do our part, right?"

"Right." Turnout hesitated for a moment, obviously considering offering even more comfort, but instead he said: "So, Blip, is this the mech who you have seen murdering Tumbler?"

Blip vented deeply, then he finally forced himself to look at the bound and silent mech in front of him. No one in the room dared to make the smallest noise as the witness and the accused locked their gaze.

There was so much pain and sorrow within Blip. Jazz's spark twinged, but he kept still. Nothing he could say would make the loss in Blip's life smaller. When the green mech's armour started to tremble, he knew the outcome of this confrontation with certainty. It felt inevitable, like a scripted tragedy that was now playing out.

With a strangled sob, Blip suddenly turned, his fists clenched in helpless anger. "This is him. This is the fragger who killed Tumbler... Primus..."

"It's all right, Blip." Turnout gave Jazz a last look, full of contempt, then he opened the door and ushered the witness outside. "You've done well. He will not murder anyone's sparkmate again, I swear..."

The door closed. Jazz sighed, feeling as if he had just taken another step towards his own melting. Sparkmate, Turnout had said. Jazz hadn't known about this little detail. His thoughts wandered to his own beloved and he hoped.


	3. Chapter 3

When Prowl heard about Jazz's arrest, shock was a mild description of what he felt. For a full joor he just sat in his office, staring at the last report, trying to decide the next step. Not only was Jazz under arrest, but Backbeat was dead. He didn't know where or how, but the Enforcer had been murdered and Jazz was being blamed. It made no sense. Why Backbeat, an unremarkable if intelligent Enforcer?

In the end, he used his battle computer to full capacity despite this not being the situation it was commissioned for, but it was more of a default reaction than a conscious decision. Though, it helped to put all the minuscule information and data he had into a pattern and gave him a rough course of action.

With new determination he stood and, against all habits, left his office without finishing his work or sorting the data pads even marginally and ended his shift early. Over the commlines, he sent Optimus a small message, sure that his friend and superior would understand. The long, bright hallways in the Autobot headquarters were still quiet, the mechs working were as bored as always, the only agitation discernible in those who were ending their shift. Good. The arrest hadn't made it into the news channel yet.

As he reached the highway, he sent an official visitation enquiry to the Enforcer headquarters and got back the expected answer:

"Autobot Prowl, at the moment the accused murderer Jazz is not allowed to accept visits due to official protocol. Please come next orn. You're welcome."

But the SIC wasn't on the way to visit Jazz, as much as he wished to be, instead he was driving directly to Iacon's racing track. There, he used his power as Chief of the Security Forces and SIC of the Autobot army to get access to the race track's camera systems. Within astroseconds, he had copied the films and turned to the nervously waiting manager:

"Thank you for your cooperation," he said. "You're very helpful. Did you notice anything strange in Jazz's behaviour?"

"No," answered the bot hastily. "I mean, if he had acted strange I would've never allowed him to race here! He was as always... well, maybe a bit more aggressive, but he seemed frustrated and so I thought nothing of it..." The mech's face crumbled. "Primus, I still can't believe it. Is it really true? Is he really that spark-killer?"

For a long moment, Prowl hesitated, then he shook his head. "I don't believe so."

"You don't?" repeated the manager, relieved. "I don't want to as well, it's just so unbelievable... but you know him better than I. So if you don't... maybe he isn't?"

"I hope so. And you can help me to find out the truth," said Prowl with a voice that he hoped was reassuring. "While Jazz has been filmed many times on track, even he had to have stopped in a garage to chat with friends or for energon a few times. Was it possible that he left the race track unnoticed for five to ten joors during one of those breaks?"

"I don't know..." He seemed in deep thought. "I fear that the answer is yes. We don't exactly keep a fence around the garage and the meeting hall. We only monitor those on the track to check who has paid, to keep it from overcrowding, to avoid fights... well, you know."

"I do."

He had hoped for a different answer, for a good and concrete alibi for Jazz, but it seemed that this avenue was a failure. He added a few other polite words and left the race track, carefully avoiding the arriving news teams who sought out mechs to interview.

Instead he opened a commline, then hesitated. Usually, Backbeat had been his contact to the Enforcers... he decided to terminate his call and drove directly to the Enforcer headquarters. Even if he couldn't see Jazz, maybe he could gather up some new information to help Jazz.

He didn't get far into the building, before he was stopped and led into an elegant office with an expensive organic lightning system and various decorations on the wall. This room belonged to a high-ranking Enforcer who liked to show what he had achieved, but who worked hard as well. In short, an Enforcer who loved his work.

"Prowl, I've expected you," greeted Turnout with a strained smile as he entered. "What can I do for you? I've already seen your request to visit Jazz, but that's not possible at the moment."

"I understand. I will visit Jazz tomorrow." Prowl's tone left no doubt that this was not negotiable. "But I wanted to know what the situation is."

It had been the wrong thing to say. Anger fuelled by pain rushed across the Enforcer's face as he snapped: "The situation? Backbeat is dead and Jazz killed him. That's the situation here and you already know it!"

"Are you so sure that Jazz did it?" asked Prowl, surprised.

"Yes." With fast movements, Turnout reached his desk and called up a databank on the screen. "Look at this, Prowl and dare to tell me that Jazz is innocent!"

At first, it was a normal, empty report, then Prowl saw the name of the file: "Murderer: Jazz," he read slowly and searched for the name of the author. "This is one of Backbeat's reports!"

"Yes." Turnout closed the file again and turned grimly towards the SIC. "Backbeat was attacked while uploading the interview with Optimus and Ironhide. The medics told us that his spark terminated only two klicks after sending this. After sending us the name of his own killer!"

This was worse than he had expected. "Jazz..." murmured Prowl in bewilderment.

"Jazz," confirmed the Enforcer sharply. "Who is the only suspect with the needed skills and more than enough opportunities to get his hands on an energy dagger. We have a witness for Tumbler's murder, who says that he recognized Jazz. He has no alibi for Hosepipe and Backbeat, and a last message of an Enforcer who also claims it was Jazz. An Enforcer, I might add, who was your friend, believed your given alibi and therefore that Jazz was innocent... and who just an orn before his deactivation was sure that he was missing a small detail with which he would be able to find the murderer." He stepped forward, until he was only a forearm's length from the SIC. "And now tell me, Prowl, where was Jazz in the joor when Tumbler was deactivated?"

"With me."

"Lie!"

Prowl's doorwings twitched in agitation. "No. And you have no proof that says otherwise."

"No proof?" Turnout smirked. "What about Blip, our witness?"

"It's testimony against testimony," admitted Prowl slowly.

The Enforcer snorted. "Yes, but your testimony looks far weaker." He eyed the Autobot coldly. "Backbeat was investigating your relationship with Jazz and was promptly killed. Maybe you're far more than friends... maybe even sparkmates. Then, you'd have all the reasons on Cybertron to lie."

"Why should I?" defended Prowl himself. "I would never protect an insane killer."

"That, I believe." And slowly some of his anger seemed to drain away. "I know that you're a good mech, Prowl. A mech with principles. But love... love has made better mechs than you blind in the past."

That hit far too closely home. The Praxian looked at the decorations, every single one standing for a successful case, many in which he had helped through Backbeat and sighed. "Turnout... you have to believe me when I say this one thing: Jazz has never killed without very good reason. If he had, I would be the first to hunt him down."

Turnout was silent for a pump cycle, then he said: "You really believe this?"

"Yes."

"I will continue my search for a weakness in his alibi, and I'm convinced that I'll find it."

"I can't stop you," acknowledged Prowl. "Could you please sent me the data about Backbeat's murder anyway? I want to..." He wasn't sure how to reason his request, but Turnout nodded anyway.

"I will," he promised with a tired smile, that didn't hide any of the spark-deep sorrow or how the long rechargeless orns had sapped his strength. "I hope that reading about our dead friend will make you see reason."

This time Prowl didn't answer.

* * *

It wasn't the first time Prowl visited the prison of Iacon. It wasn't even the first time he visited it for a friend. Still, his pedes had never felt as heavy as now as he followed the guard into the high security section and then further, until they had reached the cell for the most dangerous, most unpredictable criminals. Normally, it only housed those mechs temporarily that would be executed or their personality chip wiped within the next deca-orn. Now, inside was only one mech who wasn't even convicted yet.

"Cell 453, in section T," said the guard next to him. "Do you really want to go in alone, sir?"

"Yes."

"As you wish, sir." He slowly opened the first set of bars and security measures, and they stepped through. Behind them,the doors closed again. "Because you've been appointed as his lawyer, all cameras and surveillance devices have been disactivated. If he does anything, call on the emergency frequency or scream. I'll wait here, and if necessary, flood the cell with EMP. That will put both of you in stasis, but better than being in the Well, right?"

Prowl nodded, unable to say anything that wouldn't be an insult. The guard was only doing his job, but to truly believe that Jazz was a danger to him... it was ridiculous.

The second set opened and revealed a small, grey door. He went to the door and immediately the second set of the security measures closed up behind him. He entered a code manually (another protection against hackers) into a pad next to the door and finally, it opened. With a thrill of anticipation he entered the small cell.

Jazz was sitting on a grey, rudimentary berth and looked straight at him. "Prowl..." he said, as if savouring the name alone. "You came."

"Of course." He couldn't help but check Jazz over for dents, scratches or injuries. The relief, when he found none, was enormous. "I was worried about you."

"No need to be. The accommodation ain't what Ah wish for, but Ah've recharged in far worse."

It was true. The cell had a berth, a table, one chair, and nothing else, but it was clean and Jazz wouldn't starve. The lack of Decepticon torturer might raise the comfort level as well.

"Good to hear." He sat down on the berth next to Jazz.

"So, how bad is it?" asked Jazz subdued.

"Bad."

Despite everything Jazz had to smile. Prowl had never answered the question differently. Never changed the serious tone of his voice, or the single word that in reality said nothing about the situation. It was a prime example of Prowl's sense of humour.

"Ah thought as much." He leant into the Praxian, who put an arm around him. "Ah'm glad ya're here now."

"As am I." Prowl shuttered his optics and simply enjoyed the contact for some time. But he knew that they had to talk and that their time was limited. "I've looked through everything, I could find. But you have no alibi for Backbeat and his last message claims you to be the murderer..."

"Nothing that can help?"

Prowl couldn't hide the tremble as he admitted: "At least nothing that I found."

Jazz sighed. "Don't ya blame yaself, Prowler, understood?" He snuggled closer. "But there's one thing Ah think's strange. Ah didn't kill Backbeat, Prowler -"

"I know," interrupted the tactician.

Jazz smiled sadly. "Ah think ya're the only one... Anyway, Ah didn't kill him. But Backbeat seemed to be sure to recognise ma, or at least that is what his last message says. So, there are only three possibilities. One, someone killed Backbeat and forged the message. It'd be difficult with the Enforcer security codes and the timing and everything, but not impossible."

"I agree," said Prowl. "I've let a few professionals check Backbeat's signature. It looks true, they couldn't find anything."

"Doesn't mean that nothing is there. Ah could fool them." Had fooled them. But that was another story, for another orn and so Prowl only nodded, acknowledging the fact. "Second, it was someone that really looked like ma. A mech with special mods or maybe even a mechformer... or third, it was ma and Ah just don't remember."

"Why wouldn't you remember?" asked Prowl with a frown.

Jazz's visor became darker. "Ya know that Ah've partitioned my harddrive to create different personas, to be able to infiltrate Decepticons better."

"Yes."

"So... maybe, one of these personas became too strong, too independent and decided to follow its Decepticon code..." It visibly hurt Jazz to admit this. "In short, Ah'm going insane."

Prowl hugged him closer. "You have no proof for that theory."

"No. But all proof points to ma, doesn't it?" Jazz laughed bitterly. "It's possible, Prowl. It is."

It was and the battle computer presented him a number for how high the chance was. Prowl erased it, before he could save the number in any memory file. He didn't want to know. Not now, when he could still keep his beloved in his arms and hope that everything would be all right.

"Just because it's possible, doesn't mean it's happening," he said with conviction and adjusted his free hand to lovingly touch the small sensor horns of the saboteur. "I will search further and try to get you out of here."

Jazz turned to give him better access. "Prowl... If you keep defending ma, you'll be seen guilty as Ah am." When the tactician didn't answer, he raised his head and looked the tactician straight into the eye, searching for the truth. "It has already started, right?"

Prowl winced. "Turnout is convinced that I lied about your alibi."

"Which ya did." Jazz went utterly still for a moment, then leaned forward to kiss Prowl gently, with all the love he felt. "Prowl, ya have ta stop."

"No."

"Ya have ta." Jazz retracted his visor, revealed his optics and all the forlornness and fear he felt. It was enough to drown in it. "Please, for ma. Ah don't want ya to suffer just because of ma madness..."

"No," was the strangled answer again.

"Just tell them, that Ah forced ya or tricked ya with promises of love..."

Prowl crushed the smaller saboteur to his chest and hid his face in his neck. "Jazz, I can't. Forgive me, but I can't." He shuddered and whispered. "And I don't want to. I don't want a life without you." His voice degraded into static.

"Prowler..." Jazz was for a moment completely overwhelmed, then he hugged the trembling Praxian back. "It's all right, Ah'm sorry..."

Prowl nodded, but didn't move, to afraid to let his world go again. They stayed like that, until the guard informed him that his time was up.

* * *

It was time for the deca-orn meeting of the Autobot High Command in Iacon and it was already clear that this meeting would be anything but business as usual.

Prowl had been the first in the hall, sitting down in the front row as always. Quietly, he had reviewed his reports while observing how the hall had been filling slowly with Autobot officers. Everyone had come this time. Military officers were greeting each other with short respectful nods, scientists formed groups for discussions, and most telling, nearly every officer for Intelligence was present and milling with the crowds, even though some of them were supposed to be in the middle of missions. Scattered amongst the familiar faces were lesser known Autobots, officers from far away bases on other planets or on satellites. They were officially invited every time, but not required to attend and normally only too pleased to decline.

A small commotion turned his gaze to the right of the front row, places that were normally empty but reserved for the four sub-commanders of the Autobot force. Against all odds, two had managed to come here on this orn and were now locked into a heated argument which none of the other Autobots dared to interrupt. Prowl could understand their reluctance, he himself didn't want to come between Ultra Magnus and Hot Rod of all bots, but sadly he was the one closest in rank to them and as Chief of Security, it was part of his duty. He rose and walked towards them, all too aware of the many optics that followed his steps. This wasn't a confrontation that they wanted to miss.

He reached the pair seemingly astroseconds before the pair could get rough. Prowl stepped between them. "Sub-commander Hot Rod, Sub-commander Ultra Magnus, please be reasonable and calm down. This is neither the time nor the place for such heated arguments."

"Quiet, Prowl," said Magnus sharply. "Do not try to command us."

Hot Rod nodded once. "This is between him and I."

'Where was Prime, when one needed him?' thought Prowl annoyed. Sadly, the two squabblers were right, under normal, non-battle circumstances, he did not posses the power to command them.

Sub-commanders were trusted generals, equipped with extensive authority, who replaced the Prime himself when he was on another battlefield or planet. As such, they kept their own parts of the army, with their own Seconds and Thirds in command, their own tactical and intelligence staff. It was no small wonder that every single one of those sub-commanders felt animosity towards Prowl and Jazz – though officially ranked beneath them - gave them orders if their parts of the armies fought together. This had led to a rivalry between the tactical and intelligence staff, who all wanted to prove that they were indeed better than those of the Prime.

To most of the them, this was a harmless competition that bred excellence and kept all Autobots sharp and eager to improve themselves. As such it was even encouraged. But some had taken it personally over the aeons of war, and used every chance to prove that they were better.

Knowing all this, Prowl wouldn't simply back down.

"I cannot command you, but you are disrupting the meeting. A meeting of which security I'm in charge of." It was a barely veiled threat.

Magnus reacted, as predicted by Prowl, with anger. "You would dare to throw a sub-commander out?"

"If necessary."

At the side, Hot Rod was stepping back and observing them, seemingly amused. While Hot Rod was far from being Prowl's biggest fan, he did respect the authority of Prime's SIC and TIC. Magnus on the other hand...

"I promise you Prowl, you don't have the needed fighting capacity to force me to even show an antenna outside of this room without my consent."

It was a bluff. Even Magnus wouldn't be so stupid to start a serious fight here, in an overcrowded hall. No, the bluff served another objective – to show that Prowl's fighting skills weren't up to par with Magnus. Which everyone knew. Magnus was one of the very few bots that could spar on a power level with Prime.

"That may very well be." Prowl didn't give an inch. "But if you keep calm we will not have to find out, right?"

"Right." Magnus straightened and a slow smirk was dancing around the corners of his mouth. "You know Prowl, I've heard some interesting rumours in the last few orns. Jazz arrested for murder, multiple murders even. Quite the scandal. Of course, it wasn't really a surprise. Jazz has always been a lowlife of Polyhex and a murderer, who should never have been awarded the position he held. I cannot fathom what Optimus ever saw in him..."

For a moment, Prowl simply stared, too stunned to say anything. Than a dark rage grew in his spark and his doorwings went from neutral to aggressive so abruptly that every other Praxian would have known to hide. Fast.

"Jazz is a good and loyal member of this army, Magnus, until the very moment of his conviction and remains so now," he said in a very low and frosty tone. Out of the corner of his optics he could see, that Hot Rod looked surprised, obviously he hadn't expected that reaction of the otherwise so calm tactician. "Don't besmirch his name."

"Besmirch his name?" Magnus laughed. "As if there is anything left of his reputation."

There was more than an bit of truth to these words, but all Prowl recognised was the cruel attempt to make it all worse. Ultra Magnus had never forgiven Jazz that the saboteur had overruled his orders and then his very command of the troops at the battle of Nyon. In the end, they had to retreat with over 5,000 dead Autobots that had all belonged to Ultra Magnus' forces.

"This is not about his reputation, and you know it. If you say that Jazz was a murderer, even before those crimes happened, then you have to call every single one of us a murderer as well**,** Magnus. Jazz has never raised his hand against a true Autobot."

"And yet you say 'true Autobot', what about Autobots he sees as less 'true'?" Magnus narrowed his optics. "But Jazz will get what he deserves now. What do you think Prowl, will it be deactivation or just a wipe of his personality chip?"

"Neither." Prowl crossed his arms, to prevent his hands from landing in certain faceplates.

"Ah, of course... you gave him that alibi, which is the only reason why he's not already standing trial." A dark smirk. "I've heard lovely rumours about this alibi and Jazz and you, Prowl."

Prowl twitched. "Rumours?" he asked, despite already dreading the answer.

"Oh yes. Delightful, little rumours that have even made it into the news channel. I think they even had a panel show on it? About the theory Jazz and you being sparkmates. Some claim that Jazz blackmails you, forces you to help him with a terrible secret. You should see the betting pools on what that secret could be! I discounted those rumours, of course. Our proper boring SIC, having a dark secret? Really, that's something only a journalist who has never met you can have imagined. But most rumours really are like a tragic love story. A story about how you lied to poor Backbeat to protect your lover and when the Enforcer started to doubt, Jazz eliminated him. I have to admit, it sounds so logical, don't you agree, Prowl?" Magnus smiled pleasantly. "But then, you already know the truth, don't you?"

The tactician gritted his denta, knowing that a single wrong word could mean a cell next to Jazz's. "I don't know what you're implying, Magnus. All I know about the murders is what I've given to protocol and what the Enforcers have told me."

"So you say." Magnus responded, then paused.

A barrage of voices from the other side of the hall reached them. Optimus Prime had finally entered and made his slow way to the front row, having a smile and a few kind words for every mech he met.

Hot Rod, who had been quiet until now, said: "Seems like this will begin soon. We should take our seats."

"Agreed," said Magnus coolly and turned without another word, just leaving Prowl standing there like a fool.

The tactician vented and went to his own place, hoping despite everything that this had been the worst portion of the meeting. When Prime arrived next to him, he gave his SIC a friendly smile, but Prowl could easily see behind the façade. Optimus was stressed and deeply worried.

"It seems that Jazz's arrest has sparked a new interest in the proceedings for our army," greeted Optimus, while sitting down. Both ignored the only empty seat of the hall at the other side of the Prime. "Who will take over for Jazz?"

"Mirage," answered Prowl. "I'm expecting disruptions and objections the moment I report about Jazz's situation."

"Naturally," said Prime grimly. "How is Jazz?"

Prowl hesitated, unsure how to voice Jazz's concern over his own sanity. He finally said: "Not good, Optimus. He's... distraught."

A slow nod. "And you, my friend, how are you taking it?"

"I keep working." He feared the moments where he had to stop and all the feelings about the situation came back. Recharge had became a time of loneliness and despair.

Again a slow nod, as if Optimus could sense all the unsaid words and emotions. Maybe he could. The Matrix was a mysterious gift. "I see. Ratchet is already advising me to put you on suspension for health reasons as well."

Prowl froze. "It would be a disastrous signal."

"I agree." A deep sigh. "Still, Ratchet has more than one point in his favour. Please, at least try not overwork yourself." Prime touched his arm gently. "You're needed."

There was a bitter remark on Prowl's glossa to the effect of how Jazz had been needed as well, until the very moment of his suspension, but rationality held him back. "I know."

"And don't forget it. If I can help Jazz or you, please call."

A Prime shouldn't say this. A Prime had to be neutral in such cases, but the sincerity in Optimus' optics was genuine and for a moment so overwhelming that Prowl had to look away.

"I will," he answered quietly and couldn't say if he lied or not. He swallowed as he realised that since it all began that Optimus was the first to simply offer help. "Thank you," he added with all the honesty he had encased in his spark in the last few orns. "Thank you."

The meeting started and Optimus' report was met with impatience. When Prime was finished, Prowl didn't wait for another few words and entered the platform. He kept his report as short as possible, as emotionless as possible. Yet he was barely able to keep order in the room. Many wanted to voice their opinion, many wanted to know more, when those details were still classified to the Enforcers or simply not known.

When he neared the end, Prowl was relieved. Just a few more klicks and he would have done it... but then Ultra Magnus stood up, the hall fell silent, brimming with anticipation, and he knew that the worst was still coming:

"I think," said Magnus in a measured tone, "that in the light of these new revelations, it is time to open up the discussion about things like who the successor will be, if Jazz is now a dangerous leak for our most sensitive secrets and of course, why Prime's own Third in Command has decided to commit such horrible crimes and if there are other bots under the same pressure... and in the same danger of abandoning all reason."

Those words unleashed pandemonium. While the agreement was considerable, the objection to those words was great as well, and soon angry words and insults were flying through the room. Prowl tried to calm them down, but no one was listening to him anymore. Internally, he was analysing the words for Magnus' intent and came to the conclusion that this wasn't just an attack on Jazz, but on him as well. "Other bots under the same pressure" - how many could there be? If the rumours and doubts about his own loyalty were already rampant, then this could very well mean the political death blow for himself. The other two 'concerns' were attacks on Jazz to make sure that the saboteur wouldn't be able to return to his job, even if through some miracle he were declared innocent.

In the end, Prowl could do nothing. Respect for his authority had been lost rapidly in the last few orns.

Finally, Prime stood, went to the platform and demanded silence in the very voice he used on the battlefield. Then, he addressed Magnus directly in front of everyone: "I'm sure that these concerns aren't yours alone, Magnus, even though the time to voice them was poorly choosen."

The sub-commander managed to look guilty. While he didn't like Prowl or Jazz, he was a fanatic follower of Optimus and admired him with everything he had. It was probably for that reason only that the Prime was able to continue defusing the situation and calming the crowd.

Still, Magnus' interruption started a several joors long discussion. The sub-commander didn't get what he wanted most – the political destruction of Jazz – but Prime had to concede on the matter of a successor. A head of the intelligence department was needed, and so Optimus agreed to vote for a temporary successor in five orns. The word 'temporary' was just a matter of courtesy and nothing else.

* * *

So, last chance to guess who the murderer is! And yes, the murderer has appeared. ^^


	4. Chapter 4

The next orn things didn't get better. Prowl had forced himself to look up the news channel in the hope that Magnus had exaggerated the situation, but it was to no avail. Every broadcast, every report, every transmission was full with rumours and other new information about Jazz or Prowl. Somehow a video of the moment in the Enforcer headquarters, when he had hugged Jazz, had made it into the news channel and was now being discussed by thousands of Cybertronians. Autobots he hadn't met in vorns gave interviews, time lines were created to speculate where and how they had met, their biggest missions were examined and judged. Even a few interviews with Decepticons had appeared, who described them in the worst way possible. In contrast, there were the few bots who claimed to have been saved, helped, protected by them.

He checked the channel of betting pool statistics, a favourite past-time of his, only to discover that the top ten bets were all about the murder case.

But the worst moment of the orn had been the discovery that in front of the Autobot headquarters was a mob, consisting of reporters and citizens demanding justice, waiting for him. Fortunately, the building had more than one secret exit and he used it to disappear quietly home.

At home, he requested another visit with Jazz. It was granted in less than ten breems later for the next orn. The small joy he felt at that was enough to fall into recharge at least for a little while. Before processor glitches of grey corpses woke him again.

And so it came that Prowl was using over half of his recharge cycles to create energon goodies in his, previously often ignored, kitchen. It was kind of relaxing, especially when he thought about the smile Jazz would have when he brought him the goodies later. By the time he would normally have disconnected from his berth, he was cleaning the appliances.

It was then that the door rang. Warily he looked up, remembering only too well what had happened last time he had unexpected visitors. It wouldn't be Backbeat this time and he felt a stab of sadness at that thought, than he straightened and went to open it, expecting the worst.

But to his surprise, it wasn't Turnout or a group of Enforcers who wanted to arrest him. Instead an average built green-black mech was standing in front of him. He blinked. "Excuse me, who are you?"

"Oh," the mech looked at the floor. "Blip, my name is Blip. I'm the sparkmate of Tumbler and I wanted to talk to you, if it's okay?"

Prowl hesitated, but then opened the door further. "Sure. Come in." After all, it wasn't right to leave a grieving bot at his door. "You're the witness, right?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes." The mech stepped inside and walked to the couch but didn't sit down. "I've heard that our... testimonies are now standing against each other."

"Correct." And Prowl knew which was the lie without a doubt. For the first time he felt true guilt. While his alibi had protected Jazz, it was robbing this mech of his closure and the certainty to see the murderer punished. "Can I get you something?"

"Oh no, thank you." The mech looked around. "It smells sweet..."

"Energon goodies, I made them this morning," explained Prowl and checked his own chronometer. Time was slipping past and he didn't want to miss one astrosecond of his visit with Jazz. "Blip, why did you come? And how did you find out my address?"

"The address?" Blip smiled. "Oh, that was easy. After Tumbler's deactivation I was really often in the headquarters, you see? So, when I heard that they wanted to question the bot who gave Jazz an alibi, I followed them."

Prowl frowned. "You followed Backbeat and Turnout? Quite a feat to shadow Enforcers."

"Not really." Blip smiled broader. "Not for me. After Hosepipe I really thought that they would finally see the truth. That they had to do something now. I was so hopeful and didn't want to miss one klick of it!" Suddenly the smile vanished and Blip growled, "But I was wrong! Instead they simply listened to your lies again. I spoke with Turnout afterwards, you know, and he said that he believed that you lied. But Backbeat? That fool didn't want to hear anything bad about you, he wanted to wait and investigate." The mech sobbed. It was disconcerting to see the him abruptly changing between such strong emotions. "But I saw him! I saw how he killed Tumbler without mercy, I saw him!"

While Blip had spoken, Prowl had started slowly backing away, trying to get nearer to the door. Something about this mech wasn't_ right _and set his antennae quivering. And what he said, Blip made two fast steps to the side and blocked the path.

"Oh no, no running away for you, liar!" said Blip with madness in his optics. He took a small weapon out of his subspace – an energy dagger.

Prowl stared aghast at the dangerous weapon. "You," said he slowly, disbelieving, while starting to uplink to the emergency line. "You killed Backbeat?"

"Yes," was the uncaring answer. "He wasn't doing his job, he was protecting a murderer! He had become a murderer himself. Murderer of my beloved Tumbler..." Blip made a step forward, towards Prowl. "It was easy, too easy. Just a bit of screaming, a bit of turning and he believed everything. Just like he had believed you. Easy."

"Turning?" asked Prowl and made the emergency call. He had to stay calm. He had to stall.

"Turning, twisting, changing..." And Blip's body started to move, until it broke down to many small pieces that crawled across his very protoform, their colour getting lighter and lighter. "Mechformer, some call me." And suddenly it stopped and Jazz was standing in the room with Prowl. The sight of his own lover and knowing that he wasn't actually him hurt. "He looks good, doesn't he? Attractive. I quite like his form, it's only fitting that it too shall be the last thing you see..."

Prowl could feel the slow panic in his spark. "Hosepipe!" he tried to distract the insane mech. "Hosepipe, why him?"

Blip blinked, then simply answered "Why not him?" and attacked.

The speed, how he held the weapon, the sudden fluidity of his movements – this was no civilian. Prowl avoided the first lunge narrowly, the second as well, all too aware of the fact that this kind of dagger would slash through his armour as if it weren't there. He jumped back, thinking furiously. The Enforcers would probably take two breems to come here. Unarmed, in a close-quarters fight with an experienced and determined enemy, he feared that they would take too long.

"Why me, now Blip?" he tried his distraction method again. "Am I just random as well?"

"No." The mech trembled. "Never. I believe in justice, but after seeing reality, after Tumbler..." His voice broke with static, so that his next words were barely understandable. "The Autobots will not judge him, not deactivate him as he deserves. But it doesn't matter now, right? Because I've lost my sparkmate and now I take his own sparkmate. It's equivalent!"

Prowl suddenly remembered all the news reports that had speculated about their relationship. This mech had believed them. "You're wrong," he said.

"Am I? Really?" Blip seemed for a moment unsure, then the madness came back. He chuckled. "Tell me, do you deny that you love Jazz? That he loves you? Will you lie about that, too?"

And the denial was already in his mouth, before he swallowed it again. No. This mech didn't deserve another lie, especially not another one from Prowl. Instead he made a drastic decision and moved into a fighting position. The activation of his long dormant battle programs felt a bit like coming home and hugging a long forgotten part of himself. The time for lies was over. "No. I love him, just as you have loved Tumbler." To finally say it out loud, to another mech, was the sweetest of thrills. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Sorry! What does that mean? They all say it, but it doesn't help, nothing helps..." Blip laughed, rattling with static as if he wanted to cry instead.

"But despite your sorrow, I will not die for your justice," continued the tactician, ignoring Blip's breakdown. "So, if you feel you must do this, let's begin."

Prowl could see the irony of the situation. Just as Tumbler and Jazz had fought fourteen orns ago, now their sparkmates were standing here, in another fight that only one would leave alive.

Blip screamed and ran straight to Prowl, who stepped aside. If he had a weapon on him, he would have a good chance; as it was he would have to be more creative. He took advantage of Blip's momentarily imbalance and kicked him in the shins. The mech staggered aside, but before Prowl could use the opening, he had caught himself and attacked again.

This wasn't a battle between two civilians, or even between a civilian and an Enforcer. It was no wonder Backbeat had lost. Blip, or whatever his real designation was, had had soldier training, including deadly battle programs that eliminated all considerations of mercy. Prowl dodged again, his doorwing barely flitting out of the way. The dagger hit his kitchen appliances, slashing through them as if they were soft protoform.

Prowl looked around his apartment for a weapon, for anything, but he found nothing. He had always kept it empty and for the first time he regretted the fact.

"Stay still!" screeched Blip. "Stay still and die!"

Not if Prowl could help it. He looked at the apartment door, but Blip was too good. He wouldn't be able to escape, and then there was the risk of endangering innocent mechs they might encounter. Escape was no option. He had to fight this out.

He focused on the mechformer in front of him again, trying to ignore who he looked like. The weapon was the difference between them. If he could only take the weapon, then he would win the fight. But there was a low chance of taking it, as every experienced fighter knew that keeping the weapon took precedence above everything else.

Blip had seen where is optics had turned and sang out: "No escape for you, no escape for the liar! You will -"

Prowl attacked. Ruthlessly**,** he smashed his fist into the shoulder joint and the attack was forceful enough to dent the armour open, and while Blip howled in pain,he dug his fingers in and ripped as many cables out as he could. The joint sparked, and he jumped back anxiously. While most mechs were very vulnerable to this kind of attack, there were always exceptions to the rules. And a mechformer might just be the exception to any rules.

For an astrosecond the arm was flopping uncontrollably around, but he kept the dagger clutched tightly in his hand. Blip smirked: "Nice try."

Something moved in the shoulder, opened the damage, put it together again, then Blip raised his arms into the attack position as if nothing had happened.

Prowl wanted to curse. Instead, his battle computer refined the data and gave him a new attack plan. He vented and waited this time for Blip's next move. He didn't need to wait long. Blip attacked, the dagger aiming at Prowl's spark. Again, the Praxian dodged, but not fast enough. The energy dagger scratched his arm, cutting a few energon lines and he hissed, but didn't stop. Stopping would get him killed. With a turn, he was behind Blip and took him into a choke hold until he couldn't move. Unflinchingly, he began to add pressure on the throat, hoping to stop the supply to the head. While that didn't kill any mech, it would make him blind and maybe deaf. Blip struggled, but Prowl didn't let him go. Then, he felt the mechformer vibrating in his arms, transforming, and spikes suddenly grew out of the armour. With a startled gasp, Prowl had to release him again.

He wasn't didn't get out of range fast enough. Blip turned around, swinging the energy dagger in a descending arc. All Prowl could do was protect his more vulnerable parts – which weren't his sensitive doorwings. He screamed in agonising pain as the dagger cut through and nearly half of the left wing fell to the floor, greying.

"You're a feisty one, aren't you?" joked Blip while observing the greying part with delight. "If you continue like that I'll have to cut you apart piece by piece, by piece...!"

Prowl retreated to the other side of the room, harshly venting while his battle programs desperately shut down the dozens of pain and damage protocols. He checked his chronometer. One breem had passed and he was nearly out of ideas, seriously damaged and losing energon through his wound far too fast.

On the other side of the room, Jazz smiled and for a moment it really looked so much like his lover that Prowl wanted to go towards him for comfort. With great effort, he got a hold of himself and gritted his denta. He would not be deactivated here for the sole reason of loving the armour of his assailant!

Blip cut apart the couch, which now stood between them, apart and sent the two halvesto the wall with a kick. Prowl's optics became colder as he helplessly watched the mech destroying the few things he held dear. The mech, who had mimicked the frame of his own beloved. Prowl's hands formed a fist as anger rose in his spark and when Blip attacked again he didn't hold anything back this time.

The first swing he blocked at the wrist, then he hit the arm to the side and slipped beneath it until he was behind Blip. There, he hit the thin armour plate at the mech's throat, stunning the mechformer for a moment. He forced his hands between the back armour and the helmet ruthlessly and pulled – Blip screamed. Screamed in Jazz's voice.

For a moment, Prowl froze, then he pushed his emotional centre further into the background and ripped out more and more cables, wherever he saw them. Mechformer or not, no mech could recover indefinitely. Energon bled all over Prowl and Blip kept screaming, but the tactician didn't stop. The throat, the shoulders, the legs, he destroyed the cables, maiming the mech in one of the most savage ways possible.

When he was finished, he simply stared in dawning horror at the bleeding, whimpering, far too familiar creature in front of him, and choked. "Jazz..." he murmured, and felt his logic centre balancing on the edge of a crash. He had hurt not-Jazz. All the energon on his hands, arms, armour, spilling across the floor... Jazz's.

But then the damaged mech moved and laughed hysterically, and it sounded nothing like his lover any more. Blip, against all logic, slowly rose again on his legs, the dagger still in his hand.

"You're good, fitting for the mate of a monster..." He stepped forward, then another step and another, and with everyone he was getting faster again. The mechformer was recovering.

"No..." whispered Prowl.

"Yes!" laughed Blip and attacked.

But he was slower and weaker this time. Prowl deactivated his emotional centre, despite the possible bad consequences completely and fought with the merciless precision of a scalpel. He hit Blip's arm, pushed him back, but the mechformer came again and again as if pain and damage simply didn't matter, his madness was not letting him stop. Finally, Prowl managed to grip Blip's hand, and destroyed the cables in the wrist. The dagger fell – into Prowl's hand.

Energy daggers weren't a common weapon by far. They got their energy from the mech wielding it, who had to keep the supply steady through the worst of the battle. Even more difficult was, that while such a dagger could cut through anything, it had to have the right energy output to do so effectively. And lastly, going into a close-quarters fight was normally not adviseable in a war. In consequence**,** few besides Black Ops had ever learned and downloaded the right programs to wield this weapon. Prowl was one of the few.

Many had underestimated the battle skills of tacticians in general and of Prowl in particular.. They called him a data-fighter, or office-hero. They thought tacticians were easy prey, forgetting that tacticians were the main target for assassins and as such forced to be very well versed in how to fight close range in small rooms. Next to Black Ops, it was Prowl's tactical department which had the highest number of users for energy daggers. It helped, too, that Jazz had taken vorns of his time to personally teach Prowl how to defend himself.

And so Prowl turned the dagger with one swift hand movement, adjusted the energy output and stabbed it deeply into the very part of the chest were he had calculated was the highest chance for the spark to be – directly in the middle, the only place that would be covered by armour in any Cybertronian frame the mechformer might turn into.

Blip froze, and Jazz's blue visor stared up at Prowl and then slowly went white. The body crumbled to the ground, dead and greying. But instead of any feeling of triumph, all Prowl could see was Jazz's body greying on the floor, with a fatal spark wound that he had just caused.

His emotional centre had reactivated itself with vengeance.

Prowl felt his hands tremble, than the dagger fell to the floor next to him. He sank to his knees, not daring to touch the frame, knowing it wasn't Jazz and yet... he felt himself crashing as emotional and logic centre conflicted over the very definition of reality. His world was breaking apart and bleeding into background noise. Suddenly he was so very, very tired...

"Sir?" said a voice. "Sir – oh, Primus! I need help here. Medics! Medics!"

Someone got down beside him. "Prowl, can you hear me? Why did you kill Jazz?"

He wanted to answer, but all he managed was a small burst of static.

"Get to the side, youngling. He's crashing! Put him into stasis fast, before his core lines can damage each other. Do it - Now!"

Everything went black.

* * *

Jazz had always liked it to watch Prowl recharge. In the beginning, in Tarn and after, it was the wonder of seeing him lying still and enjoying that peaceful expression on Prowl's face. In the war it had become an assurance that despite what he had become and did that there was still one mech who trusted him enough to recharge next to him without hesitation or doubt. Since the truce began, it was the comfort of having him near and to be able to simply enjoy it.

Right now, though, it was once again the sharp relief that he was all right, and they were together and safe. Something that he had hoped not to feel ever again, but had longed for in the lonely joors in the prison cell.

At first, they had brought Prowl into the hospital, where Ratchet had scared away all other medics to put Prowl into deeper stasis as a precaution. No one was sure what kind of damage the emotionally-charged experience of killing a friend and colleague (and sparkmate, but Jazz never confirmed those whispers) might have wrought on the battle computer, regardless of the fact that Prowl knew it wasn't truly Jazz he had fought.

When Jazz was released from the prison with many apologies and even more bootlicking, the first stop he made was at the hospital to visit Prowl. He laid there, so quietly, so alone... Jazz never wanted to leave him again.

But the mess was huge, and there were still ties to be cut, and disinformation to be planted, before they could truly be declared innocent. And so he stood and left Prowl, and worked furiously to return as soon as possible.

An orn ago, the political fallout had happened, the news channel was still reviewing the victims and speculating about Prowl's state and Ratchet declared Prowl undamaged, but that he should wake soon from the stasis.

Jazz, taking one look at the white and impersonal hospital room with the many foreign bots running around outside, had nodded and requested that he be transferred discreetly to his own apartment. Only Prime and Prowl had known its location two deca-orns ago, but Prowl's was uninhabitable and he didn't want to many foreign bots around when he woke up. The security breach in having others learn where he lived was a cost he was willing to pay; he would move in a few deca-orns anyway, just in case an Enforcer or reporter had discovered too much.

For good measure he had taken every one of the few trinkets that Prowl thought valuable, cleaned the energon from them and placed them in his own apartment. Then, with nothing else to do anymore, he sat down next to the berth, took his hand and waited.

"Jazz?" whispered a quiet voice.

"Ah'm here." Jazz smiled and for the first time in over sixteen orns entirely relaxed. Prowl was awake and they were both okay. "Everything is all right."

"That's good to hear." Prowl slowly sat up on the berth, without letting go of Jazz's hand. "I remember... Blip? Is he..."

He squeezed the hand. "Yes. Ya killed him." For a moment there was a deep sadness on Prowl's face and Jazz wanted to kiss him for it. Despite the war, the tactician hadn't managed to become a cold-sparked killer. "Blip was a mechformer. Ah researched him, and after a bit, discovered a few other aliases of his. One of them he was known by was the designation Axer."

"Axer?" Prowl got the far away look that meant he was searching his memory banks. "I've head that name before..."

"A Decepticon bounty hunter," confirmed Jazz casually, as if he hadn't hunted down every scrap of information for Blip and Axer. "One of the few who had dealings with the Neutrals. But he vanished in the middle of the war and no one had seen plate or aft of him since then. Until now."

"So, he was a Decepticon?"

Jazz sighed, and then shook his head. "No. Ah think he left the Decepticons because he didn't agree with them any more and took on a new identity, the one we know as Blip."

It wasn't a rare thing that mechs abandoned their factions, but it rarely happened with as much skill as the mechformer had shown. Jazz wouldn't have made the connection between Blip and Axer without the analysis of his fighting style and skills, the knowledge that the mech could change his appearance at will and that some secret had to be in Blip's past.

"And then...?" asked Prowl.

"Lived since that moment as a normal Autobot citizen," said Jazz. "The Enforcer believe that he slowly went mad under the pressure of his different identities and killed Tumbler in a lover's spat. Afterwards, he couldn't live with the guilt and his processor blamed the only bot he knew who could have done it as well: me. When Ah had an alibi, he deactivated Hosepipe in the same manner, probably to add the pressure on the Enforcers and because Hosepipe simply was at the wrong place for the wrong time. Backbeat, though, was a careful act of revenge, because Blip felt his testimony was being disregarded. In the end, he decided to attack ya because in his mind it was an act of justice that Ah lose ma sparkmate just like he did."

The tactician was quiet for a moment, simply staring at the saboteur. Then he said: "But this is not what happened."

"No," admitted Jazz with regret. "It ain't."

Prowl looked down, away from the saboteur and shuttered his optics. "You killed Tumbler, right?"

"Yes."

Prowl shuddered, then he got himself under control. "I didn't ask that orn after the Tumbler's deactivation... but I ask now. I have to know for what reason I lied and pushed an grieving sparkmate, mechformer or not, into madness! For what reason did Hosepipe and Backbeat and even Blip had to die! Was it all worth it?"

Jazz let go of Prowl's hand, not daring to look at this sparkmate any more. "Ah don't know, Prowl," he answered softly. What was worth a murder? A lie that prevented justice?

"Jazz... Tell me, please."

"Ah..." He gulped and started again, trying to keep it voice calm and impersonal. "It started several deca-orns ago. As ya know, mechs were getting sick because of bad energon. It weren't many, but Ah thought it strange that there was rarely a source of the bad energon or of supid mechs who had diluted it. We investigated. Took probes of the energon storage tanks, asked discreetly around, the usual thing. Not usual was what we found. Of ten probes around three were always contaminated with a slow acting poison."

"Poison?" repeated Prowl alarmed.

"Yes. It varied how much poison was in it, but the mechs that got sick had drunk the highest dose. Any higher, and it would have been deadly. We realised that someone was doing this not only deliberately, but was increasing the amount of poison slowly but steadily. At that point, Ah contemplated of alerting the Enforcers and Prime of our problem."

"But you didn't." As chief of security, Prowl would have been among the very first to be alerted to the problem.

"No, because Ah was afraid of a mass panic... There is enough poison dissolved in the energon that is still in storage tanks and hidden in the pipes and converters that we might take nearly a vorn to clean it all out. Tumbler was thorough." Jazz's visor went a few shades darker. "Ah let Teletraan run simulations, Prowl. No one was dying yet, but if they all discovered that they were slowly being poisoned and nothing could prevent it? Mechs are still scared by the past energon famines and this fear makes them more irrational. Teletraan predicted riots, theft of clean energon and destruction of the storage facilities."

"But without the energon storage facilities we wouldn't able to fuel the city at all. We would need at least a quarter vorn to replenish the energon stores to a level were no one was going empty," said Prowl troubled, as he had written more most of Teletraan's simulation programs. "And even worse, a new energon famine would have weakened us enough that the Decepticon would certainly attack. Truce, or no truce."

"Yes." Jazz stood and started to walk around in the room. "Already, the poison was and still is weakening the poorest mechs with the lowest maintenance and the sparklings. Our only hope to prevent deaths was to find the culprit fast."

"The culprit was Tumbler?" guessed Prowl.

"Yes. Every time he worked, he spread a bit of energon into the converters, the pipes, wherever he was..."

"Why?"

Jazz shrugged. "Ah think he was bored."

"Bored?!" Prowl looked at him with incomprehension. "He poisoned a whole city because he was bored?"

"Maybe." Jazz sighed, he didn't like not having all information. "Or his sparkmate had still a few connections to the Cons and they did it for them... Ah don't know. Ah couldn't find any message or hint that pointed towards Megatron and his gang." He stopped his walk and took one of Prowl's little trinkets, a wonderful green crystal from Praxus, into his hands. It calmed him. "Anyway, we discovered him and thought about what to do... arresting would mean informing the Enforcers, which would put it all into the reports. It would have leaked sooner or later, just like the video with us hugging in the waiting room leaked, together with the fact that all energon will stay contaminated for some time."

"So no arrests."

"Right." He turned the crystal in his hand, nervously, expecting Prowl's condemnation of him with every word. "We warned Tumbler that this would have consequences, but the guy didn't stop." Jazz sighed, full of grief. "Four orns after our warning, a sparkling got a high amount of poison and nearly died. It will probably have processor damage for the rest of its – probably short – life."

"So, waiting wasn't an option as well."

"Yeah... then we thought about kidnapping and hiding him away." He looked at Prowl, who seemed deep in thought, nearly ignoring Jazz.

"That would have been too obvious," answered Prowl, slowly seeing the whole damning picture. "Tumbler was a mech that would have been missed. He had a sparkmate and friends who would search for him. There was a risk of them or the Enforcers discovering the poison and then you would have had a mass panic again."

Jazz nodded. "Not to mention the small fact, that kidnapping an ostensibly innocent citizen is illegal as well. What would Ah have done with him afterwards? Had he lived, he would have put me and ma whole department into the line of fire."

"For abduction instead of murder," said Prowl.

"Yeah." It wouldn't have been much better than what had happened in the end. Prison, loss of job and reputation, maybe a memory wipe, it all would have still happened. "We took too long to think about it. Tumbler increased the poison, probably because he felt cornered, and eight more bots got sick. The youngest, barely older than four vorns died. Spark-failure." Jazz looked down at the crystals, because for the next words he didn't want to see the Praxian's optics. "It was the last straw. Ah decided that the mech had to be eliminated and it had to be done fast. Ma guys destroyed all the poisons in his apartment, while Ah took on the deed."

"You were sloppy."

The saboteur winced. "Yes."

"And so I had to lie and between the two of us Blip's sanity was destroyed." Prowl sounded cold, accusing.

Jazz frowned, as his temper didn't want to accept this without trying to defend himself. "To be fair, mechformers ain't the sanest of mechs under the best circumstances."

"Jazz!" growled Prowl and suddenly stood from the berth. "It doesn't matter. This all should have never happened. Why didn't you come to me with the problem? I'm sure together we would have found a better solution."

"Probably." The mech put the crystal back and turned towards Prowl. "But Ah was so sure that Ah had it all under control, that Tumbler was just a sick fragger that had to be stopped. Ah... really tried to avoid more deaths, Prowl. Ah thought that this way Tumbler would die tragically, but loved and as an upstanding citizen, instead of being executed by an Autobot court. But no one would search for poison, no mass panic and all would try to find a mysterious killer..."

Prowl walked towards him, slowly shaking his head. "All you described, happened, Jazz. Just with a few additions..."

"Ah know." He managed a weak grin. "We had to improvise."

"I hate improvisation," said Prowl wearied and kissed Jazz. "But I suppose, it all could have been worse." He looked the mech he loved into the visor. "Next time, try to keep us out of the line of fire, okay?"

Jazz smiled truthfully, with the kiss knowing that he had been forgiven. "If ya do the same, liar."

"We'll see."

That recharge cycle, they cuddled together on the berth. It was nice to just enjoy the feeling that all was well, and that the love of your life was with you. Despite everything. Prowl was slowly disconnecting with the reality and powering down, but Jazz... Jazz lay awake next to him and stared at the ceiling, thinking.

"Prowl?" he asked quietly, knowing that his sparkmate could still hear him. "Ya are aware that Ah had to give them evidence from the apartment for proof ya're innocent, right? They didn't find the listening devices, and I've destroyed them all by now, but... I had to give them a film of the fight."

"I know." If Prowl was surprised or angry that Jazz had even installed cameras in his former home, his sleepy voice didn't show it.

"Ah saw the fight," Jazz said into the darkness and waited.

Prowl didn't answer.

"When ya shut down your emotional centre that ya think logically... The Enforcers believe that ya killed Blip in a classic piece of self-defence and yar crash only strengthened that perception. But Ah know yar fighting skills and with an energy dagger in the hand, a weakened mech in front of ya, ya had other options. And ya must have realised them."

"Jazz..."

But the saboteur wasn't finished. "Ya killed Blip in a logical decision." He hugged the Praxian, gripping the armour so tightly that it had to be painful. "Ya killed him, so that he would get the blame for Tumbler too, right? Ah've not only made ya into a liar, but a killer as well..."

"Jazz," Prowl turned and kissed him. "Never doubt that I would protect any Autobot just like you do. You have turned me into nothing I haven't already been. And now recharge."

The saboteur wanted to say another thing, but then closed his mouth and simply cuddled closer with a smile. Maybe, it really had all been said.

* * *

Thanks for all of you who guessed the murderer! It made me happy to read your theories.

Tomorrow, the Epilogue.


	5. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

Turnout waited patiently in the hall of the Autobot headquarters, knowing that they would soon come straight to him. It was only a matter of time. Behind him the big entrance opened and closed for various Autobots and he ignored that more and more recognised him and stayed to find out why he was here. Turnout wasn't bothered by it.

This time, he wasn't officially here because of his job, though in his life somehow everything was always related to that. He didn't want it any other way. He loved the hunt for a criminal, the challenge to find and puzzle together the hints and the satisfied warm glow in his spark when justice was served.

This time, though, the glow had been dimmer when he thought about Blip, the sweet, spark-broken mech he had gotten to know and like. Blip, the spark-killer, whose own guilt and madness and led to a horrifying death. He hadn't been able to forget the moment when he had entered the apartment and pink Energon had been everywhere, Prowl lying on the floor surrounded by medics and then Jazz, or someone that had looked like him... Analysis of the core had confirmed that it was Blip. Poor mechformer, driven insane by his own ability. A sad fate.

And so, to forget and to chase away the images, he had reviewed the data files created on the case, had organised them and archived them. Just to find himself with Jazz and Prowl's description of the original alibi in hand and to read it again and again...

Which had now led him here to the entrance hall, where he waited quietly for the two Autobot's shift end.

When they exited the elevator, Turnout smiled. Of course, they were together. Another clue for his theory.

"A nice orn," greeted Turnout the two, who looked at him with barely concealed suspicion. He couldn't blame them after the events of the last deca-orn. "Do you have a breem for me?"

They shared a look, then nodded. "Of course," said Prowl. "Has something happened?"

"Oh no, you don't need to worry. But do you remember our last conversation, Prowl? It was about the alibi."

The wings of the Praxian tensed, barely perceptibly. "Yes."

Jazz shifted closer to his friend as if to offer support and Turnout filed it away as another clue. "I told you then that I would find proof that your alibi was false. Of course, now that it has been proven that Blip was the murderer, it was naturally assumed that the alibi was truthful." He smiled. "But I suppose I was curious and checked both of your testimonies again." Curiosity had always been Turnout's biggest asset and sometimes his curse. He just couldn't let things rest. "I calculated the stated time on the files; comparing them and calculating it again, I found one flaw..."

"A flaw?" asked Jazz. "Are you saying we both lied?"

"Well, not exactly," Turnout amended. "But you didn't tell us the whole truth. Your alibi has a hole of nearly one joor. A joor for which both of you tried to cover up through extending other conversations and activities."

Turnout could feel how the anticipation in the hall skyrocketed. Every mech wanted to know one thing, what had Jazz and Prowl tried to hide despite the high risk? The Enforcer enjoyed the crackling suspense behind him, the silence as no one dare to move. This, the hunt and then the thrill of closing in on the mystery was what he loved.

To his surprise, neither Jazz nor Prowl seemed very shocked that he knew. Instead, the saboteur smiled at his friend and said: "Maybe we should just tell them?"

"Now?" asked Prowl, and flicked a doorwing in amusement.

"No time like now..."

"If you insist." The tactician looked the mechs assembled in the hall and then back at the Enforcer. "You're right, something did happen." He stopped for a moment, and Turnout would have bet his last promotion that it was only to increase the dramatic moment. "In that joor, Jazz decided to ask me if I would want to bond with him."

Stunned silence. Despite the rumours of them being sparkmates, no one had expected the two famously-secretive and private mechs to give that ultimate trust to anyone, not even to each other. Turnout, though, used the moment and asked: "And what was your answer?"

Prowl smiled. "I wanted to think about it for an orn, but then things happened... and I could only give Jazz the answer four orns ago."

"And?"

Jazz stepped forward and for once Turnout didn't doubt for a klick that the radiant joy on his face was real. "He said yes." Jazz grinned. "We've now been bonded for three orns."

"And it was the best decision of my life," said Prowl quietly and hugged the saboteur from behind.

Turnout stared. How they could have all doubted the love between that pair, and debated for orns whether they were more than friends or not, was now a mystery to him. Behind him the Autobots started to clap and cheer and he slowly joined in.

If the Enforcers had known about the deep connection between those two, they would have given far less credit to Prowl's alibi. Which had probably been the first reason to hide it, besides the fact that it probably came naturally to them to lie about it after hiding their love over vorns and through vicious war. And then, when the orns passed and Jazz was already in prison, Prowl's confession would have only made him even more of a suspect. Maybe they would even have even tried to pin him down as a confidant. No, their decision to hide it had been logical.

In front of him, Jazz now turned in Prowl's arm and whispered, "The best decision of my life was to ask you for a dance on that party in Tarn..."

Prowl laughed softly, and then they were kissing as if there was no greater treasure in the universe than the bot in their arms.

Turnout smiled and clapped harder and rejoiced with the crowd, as he slowly felt the glow of satisfaction in his spark.

Finally, the case was closed.

END

~ ~ ~~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_Blip _  
_is a Decepticon from G1 and quite insane. He claimed to be a Sparkeater among other great and distrubing titles and Magnus arrested him. End of his story._

Axer   
_is a Decepticon from the G1. He appeards shortly in the Dreamwave and IDW comics. In Dreamwave, he was a bounty hunter and assassin. In the IDW comics, he slightly modified his appearance to infiltrate the Autobots (no mechformer) and tried to kill Optimus Prime._

Backbeat  
is an Autobot from G1 and appeared in the IDW comic Spotlight: Hot Rod and Spotlight: Double Dealer. He was a member of Hot Rod's unit, an explosive expert and was murdered by Dealer – who can change his body, is an infiltrator and Decepticon spy. It was fate, Backbeat.

_Turnout, Hosepipe and Tumbler – Original Characters._

Thanks to all who kept reading until the end! :)


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